


For Want of a Nail

by prhood



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prhood/pseuds/prhood
Summary: Elizabeth and Darcy do not encounter each other at Pemberley and matters take a different turn.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been posted elsewhere about a year ago. I have picked it up, dusted it off, and done some editing of the story without changing it substantially (I hope).

August 1812 - Derbyshire

Fitzwilliam Darcy was to suffer two most unfortunate events on this day, although it was many years before he realized that the second had even occurred. He was but an hour out of the Inn and only three from arriving at his home, Pemberley, when his horse began to limp. One its shoes was loose, a nail having been lost and the remainder loosened. It was the work of but a few minutes to remove the shoe altogether. After a brief curse directed at the stable from which the horse had been rented, he considered his situation. The small village he had just passed through did not possess a smith as far as he could recollect but the next one, being somewhat larger, might well have one. With a resigned shrug, he began his walk in that direction, leading his horse. If he was fortunate, the smith would be able to start immediately and he might well make Pemberley by mid-afternoon; but, if the smith had pressing business, he would do well to arrive before dark.

As it turned out, he was fortunate in that the village did have a smith, but there his luck ended since the man had been called to a neighbouring estate to attend a problem there and could not be expected to return for several hours. The next nearest smith was at least two hours walk distant and there were no assurances that he would be immediately available. Inquiries could not produce a horse for him to ride, as all the animals available were fit only for farm work and were already in use in any event. The only sensible option was to wait and, although it pained him to sit so idle, he had little or no recourse. He could, he thought, console himself with the absence of Miss Bingley. To avoid her company had been one of the reasons he travelled ahead of his company – his excuse of having business with his steward, while not false, was a slight fabrication as that business alone could not justify his departure. Now he must simply wait.

It was nearing dark before he finally arrived at Pemberley, to be greeted, with some surprise, by Mrs. Reynolds.

“I did not expect you until tomorrow, sir. I shall have hot water sent to your room within the half hour. Do you wish a tray of food?”

“A bath would be a delight, I assure you, Mrs. Reynolds. The food as well.”

“Is the rest of the company close behind you, sir? I had not expected you until tomorrow mid-day, but the rooms are prepared now.”

“I rode on ahead of the others. I would have been here hours ago, but my horse threw a shoe and it took some time to find a smith to fit him with a new one.”

They walked in companionable silence towards the stairs and Mrs. Reynolds was about to go about her business when Darcy asked casually, “Anything of interest that I should know about, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“No, sir. It has been very peaceful, very quiet here. Having some company will be a pleasure.”

“Well, a part of my company is Mr. Bingley’s sisters.” Darcy knew that the previous visits by those ladies had not left a favourable impression on his housekeeper.

“Mr. Bingley is a most amiable visitor, sir.”

“Hhhhmmm”

“Oh, I should mention we had some visitors today to view the house and grounds. If your horse had not lost a shoe, you would likely have encountered them. A very pleasant, genteel couple accompanied by a young lady. Their niece, I believe. She apparently can claim a slight acquaintance with you, although she did not presume upon it in any way.”

“Do you remember their names, Mrs. Reynolds?” Darcy wondered who the young lady could be. He was not aware of any of his acquaintance who were travelling in Derbyshire, and it must be a slight acquaintance otherwise he was sure that they would have informed him of their travel plans. He wondered that they had not left a card.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a maid and a footman with whom Mrs. Reynolds quickly turned her attention, giving them such directions as were necessary for the preparation of her master’s bath and meal. As she spoke to them, Darcy continued his progress up the stairs towards his chambers. Mrs Reynolds, her thoughts already turning to other matters, gave little thought to her answer.

“No sir. I believe the couple were a Mr. and Mrs. Garden or Gardiner. I am not sure. I did not learn the young lady’s name.”

“That is unfortunate or perhaps not. One never knows with visitors. I certainly do not include any Gardiners amongst my acquaintance. I think it quite unlikely that I would have known them.” He spoke over his shoulder as he continued to mount the steps, “Please send that tray to my room as soon as possible. I find myself quite hungry indeed.”

It is unfortunate that Mrs. Reynolds was so distracted as to forget the young lady’s name and, when she did remember it later that evening, she saw no reason to bring it to Darcy’s attention. The young lady had, after all, not intimated that her acquaintance was of any significance and her master had asserted that he did not know the other members of the party. Within four and twenty hours it was doubtful that she would have even remembered the name, if anyone had been interested enough to ask – which they were not.

Darcy never learned that Elizabeth Bennet visited Pemberley, nor that she was staying with her relatives at the inn in Lambton that day or the day after his horse lost a nail. The five miles that separated Lambton and Pemberley would have been of little significance if he had known of her presence. Unhappily for them both, he did not and they were not to meet again for many years.


	2. In which an unexpected encounter occurs

May, 1820 - London

“Papa, might we stop at Gunter’s for an ice?”

Darcy looked down at his daughter – so much like her mother in looks and tastes – smiled and teased her in return, “You would deprive me of the pleasure of visiting the bookstore?”

If she had been older, he doubted not that a roll of her eyes would have greeted his sally; however, being but five, the delay in having her wishes granted usually only produced a pout. She had yet to learn the enjoyment of reading by herself, although she had yet to lose the habit, gained early in her life, of climbing into his lap with a book for him to read to her. It was a pleasure they both enjoyed and she was not loathe to avail herself of his lap any time she found him sitting. He chuckled at the memory of his Aunt Matlock’s countenance when Ann-Marie had invaded his library one afternoon while his aunt was visiting. Bearing a large book, Ann-Marie had commanded his lap and his attention to have a story read. His aunt had been quite overset to have him comply with his daughter’s demand. That her conversation had to be delayed some quarter hour until the story was finished, bothered neither himself nor Ann-Marie. His aunt on the other hand …

“I must stop at Anderson’s for a few minutes. He has finally received several volumes that I ordered several months past.” He smiled down at her, “We shall also look for some story books for you while we are there. I promise.”

A pair of twinkling brown eyes looked up at him."And you can read it to me when we get home.”

It was not a request. His eyebrows rose.

“Will you read it to me when we get home, pleeeese?” she amended.

The interrogative lift of her eyebrow reminded him of his wife once more; however, it no longer led to the twinge of loss or at least the pain of that loss had been muted. 

He nodded his head. His daughter skipped a couple of steps in anticipation. 

“It will be but a few scant minutes.” He assured her."The stop, that is. As for reading to you, I shall do so before you go to bed.”

She nodded, skipped a few more steps and looked up at him again, "Shall you tell me a story? About when you were a little boy?”

He assumed a thoughtful air, added a touch of hesitation to his voice and said, “Well … maybe …”

“Pleeeze … about when you played at Pemberley?”

He had no intention of refusing her."Very well, but only one story after I read to you and then you must go to bed.”

She smiled and nodded once more.

“Will we visit the park tomorrow, Papa?”

He was saved from answering immediately by the need to open the door to the bookstore for his daughter. She, not recognizing that he would not wish to answer in such a public location, had stopped to await his response. After obtaining his agreement, she allowed him to lead her to browse amongst the displays adjoining the entranceway where several books for children were on display. After spending a quarter hour as they leafed through those which he thought might interest her, a selection of two books were agreed upon. Reposing their care to her arms, Darcy strolled towards the counter where Mr. Anderson, who had noticed his appearance, was bringing out a package from under the counter. A few minutes later, with his new acquisitions reviewed and paid for, he observed his daughter already immersed in one of her acquisitions. 

He stepped to her side and asked, “Is it a good story?”

He had startled her and she jumped slightly, which caused him to chuckle, “It must be a good book, to capture your interest so thoroughly and quickly.”

Embarrassed she laughed and pointed to a picture in the book, “Look, she looks like Aunt Georgie!”

“So she does.” The girl in the picture was dressed in an elaborate ‘princess’ gown and had long blonde hair. She brought the page closer to her face before stating emphatically, “Aunt Georgie is much prettier!”

“I agree. Much, much prettier.”

“I wish I had hair like Aunt Georgie.”

“You have your mother’s hair, Ann-Marie, and it is, I assure you, quite beautiful and suits you perfectly.”

Even now, two years later, mention of her mother could cause a fleeting feeling of sorrow. Ann-Marie had only scant memories of her mother and they were fading with time. He felt the need to lift his own mood immediately."Shall we remove ourselves to Gunter’s, then? It is just down the street.”

Her response was quick and the prospect was viewed with anticipation. It took some few minutes longer than expected for them to walk the several blocks to Gunter’s. Bond Street was not unusually busy, but their progress was not unimpeded. The Darcys were not frequent visitors to London, preferring to spend much of the year at their country estate – Pemberley – but his circle of acquaintances was too wide to allow them to escape unnoticed in such a public venue. The attention was perhaps more annoying to him than to his daughter who seemed to view acquaintances with ill-disguised interest. His reserve was a trait that she had not inherited and neither of them found cause to regret its absence.

Finally, he could usher her into Gunter’s. Their release by that last acquaintance had produced a relieved sigh by him and a puzzled look from his daughter. Their footman, who had accompanied them silently throughout their excursion, took his usual position just outside the door of Gunter’s.

“Papa, why did those ladies wish you to call on them? And why were you frowning at them?” 

“I was not frowning, Ann-Marie. I was trying to … ah, discourage their interest.”

“What interest, Papa? I do not understand.”

“And I hope you do not for many years, Ann-Marie. Many years!”

She made no answer, but any interest she might have harboured in pursuing the question disappeared as he seated her at an empty table. Darcy took the opposing seat which, as usual, gave him a view of the entire room. He could not answer for this preference, but he always felt uncomfortable and exposed unless his back was to a wall and he could see all before him. His attention, in this instance, was captured by the appearance of a waiter to take their order which was quickly and easily done. 

Ann-Marie was almost bouncing in her seat waiting for hers to arrive and, when it did, had no thought other than to enjoy her treat as thoroughly as possible. Fortunately, she was a child who preferred to prolong that enjoyment by eating slowly. His attention, now that his daughter was diverted, was to scan his surroundings and take the measure of those who were also enjoying Gunter’s delicacies. His sharp intake of breath, which he could not control, drew his daughter’s attention. Darcy knew not what his countenance betrayed but, if it mirrored his thoughts, his perturbation must be obvious to everyone. He was as if paralyzed. His daughter’s lips moved. He was sure she had spoken but he heard nothing. She grasped his arm and the alarm in her voice as she exclaimed, “Papa!” returned him to himself. 

“Papa, what is wrong?”

He could hardly form the words, “Nothing … Nothing is wrong!”

She shook her head in confusion and looked towards where his eyes remained fixed. A woman, accompanied by a young boy of about five years, – Ann-Marie could only guess at his age but he looked of an age with herself - had entered the shop and taken a table almost adjoining their own. She was speaking to the boy as she placed a few parcels on a chair and seated herself. The ever-present waiter had barely given her time to sit before soliciting their orders. Her son – Ann-Marie thought he must be her son since the resemblance between them was marked – must have said something amusing because her laugh – low and pleasant – could be heard even several tables removed. She was an extremely attractive woman.

”Do you know that lady, Papa?”

Her father’s answer was so soft as to be almost unheard."Oh yes.”

He made as to rise from the table and the awkwardness of his movement disturbed his daughter and also attracted the attention of the woman on whom his attention was fixed. Her response was as startling to Ann-Marie as her father’s. The woman’s sharp gasp was audible, even from where Ann-Marie sat, and she grasped the table seemingly to steady herself. Her son, on the other hand, simply looked as bewildered as Ann-Marie. Darcy marvelled that his mind had noted such a triviality.

Darcy had finally managed to control his reaction and, after a brief – very brief – pause, he had moved towards the woman. A few quick steps brought him to her side. His quick bow was acknowledged by a small inclination of her head. Darcy could read little from her countenance, although he rather guessed that she was as disconcerted as he. Ann-Marie heard her father speak.

“Miss … Bennet … I am sorry, I know that is no longer your name and, to my regret, I have forgotten your husband’s name.”

“Mr. Darcy, I am … my husband’s name was Waring.”

Darcy was not sure what he wanted to do next but the need to speak with her once more was too strong to ignore. He had not missed her use of ‘was’ – her husband had died then, although he had not learned of it till now. He noted that she was not wearing mourning clothes. "I am sorry to hear of your husband’s passing. I have suffered a similar loss. My own wife died two years ago.”

Elizabeth nodded, “My condolences, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Collins informed me of her passing.”

“Will you and your son not join my daughter and me? We have just arrived ourselves and have only begun to eat. Your company would please me greatly.”

Elizabeth was not yet in full control of her thoughts. What could he mean by asking her to sit with him? She had not thought of him for years and had heard little of him since their parting at Hunsford some eight years ago. For some reason, her friend Charlotte Collins felt compelled to share with her those small pieces of information that had been imparted to her. Elizabeth’s delay in responding caused Darcy to step back and say, “Forgive me. I have intruded. Please accept my apologies.”

His movement to return to his table was halted by her words, “No! Please! I would ... we would be delighted to join you and your daughter.”

Collecting her parcels they moved awkwardly to the table where Ann-Marie sat gazing at her father with a rather befuddled look. Today they had encountered several young women and toward none of them had he behaved as he was now doing. To them his manner, while polite, was hardly welcoming. 

Darcy introduced his daughter, and Elizabeth, her son – David. Conversation was as awkward as could be expected between two people separated by eight years and an angry last parting. Darcy felt the need to find out more of her situation.

“Mrs. Waring, I perhaps have the advantage of you. I still visit my aunt at Rosings once a year. Mr. Collins remains my aunt’s rector, as you undoubtedly know. I am glad to hear that your father is still healthy.”

“Yes, he is; although this past winter was hard on him.”

“I was sorry to hear that your mother had passed on. Mrs. Collins mentioned it to me a year or two ago.” He gave a rueful shake of his head and continued, “I am sure that it is no surprise to you that I remember Mr. Collins being more distressed that your father lived, although he made an effort to hide it.”

Elizabeth gave a sharp laugh that contained little mirth, “I am sure your observations are quite accurate, Mr. Darcy.”

“Well, I can ... we can hope that his tenure at Hunsford lasts some years more. I cannot imagine such a man as Mr. Collins as master of an estate.”

“My cousin has married a sensible woman. I believe Longbourn will be in good hands. They have a son who I have not met, but Charlotte seems to think well of him.”

“I met him last year. He appears to be sensible enough – a credit to Mrs. Collins, I am sure.”

Elizabeth felt all the discomfort of their situation, but certain civilities must be made. "I wish to extend my condolences, Mr. Darcy. Charlotte informed me of your wife’s passing.” She made a quick glance at Ann Marie before continuing, “Once more, it seems, you have the charge of raising a young girl by yourself – nay, I forgot - you have a younger daughter as well.” She found she could not continue. She knew nothing of his sister’s situation. What little information she had received about Mr. Darcy had come from Charlotte and beyond his marriage, the birth of his children and the death of his wife, she knew little. She suspected that Charlotte had told him little more about her. His next words confirmed her supposition.

“Mrs. Collins was kind enough to inform me of your marriage. She spoke highly of your husband. I can only guess how much you must regret his passing.”

Elizabeth gazed fondly at her son, “He was an excellent man and his loss would have been greater except he left me with a fine son and a daughter. I was very fortunate!” She looked at Ann Marie and smiled, “I believe you are as well. Mrs. Collins has spoken fondly of you, Miss Darcy, in her letters. She was most impressed.”

Ann Marie could not help but return Mrs. Waring’s smile, but before she could respond, young David Waring, who had been sitting a little restlessly throughout the conversation, could restrain himself no further.

“Mama, you promised we could visit the sweets shop!“

“David, you know better than to ask in such a fashion. A gentleman does not whine.”

"I am sorry, Mama.” David noticed Ann-Marie smirking and sent a glare at her which only increased the smirk he faced.

“Ann-Marie!” Darcy’s voice was sharp. He also had notice his daughter’s smirk and was happy to see it suddenly disappear at his sharp warning. Ann-Marie, ever quick to deflect her father’s displeasure, asked, “Will we not also stop at a sweet shop? Helen might wish to have a treat also.”

Darcy shook his head, “We have discussed this already.” And noticing Elizabeth hesitate to ask a question, volunteered, “Helen is my other daughter. She is but two and home with her nurse.”

Ann Marie smiled at the sound of Mrs. Waring’s laughter. It was genuine and she had not heard its like since … since her mother died. That realization suddenly filled her eyes with tears. Fortunately, she thought, no one had noticed and busied herself with her treat until the desire to cry had passed.

David leaned towards his mother and whispered to her. She sent a disapproving look at him and said, “It is quite impolite to whisper when in company as we are now, David. If something cannot be said where all can hear it, then it should not be said at all.” She raised an eyebrow and waited for his response.

Darcy could see the boy was reluctant to repeat whatever he had said and he had opened his mouth to relieve him of the obligation where David finally blurted, “I was wondering when you met Mr. Darcy. I have never met him, have I?”

Darcy could see that his daughter was as interested in the answer as Elizabeth’s son and took upon himself the office of explaining some portion of their shared history.

“Mrs. Waring and I met before either of us was married. We last saw each other in Hunsford – which is in Kent - about eight years ago.”

“And you have not met since then, Papa?”

“”No, we have not. Providence did not place Mrs. Waring in my path till now.”

Elizabeth's eyebrow rose, “Providence, Mr. Darcy?”

“Providence, Mrs. Waring! Good fortune that she did so now, I believe.” His tone was very firm.

Elizabeth made no response but, conscious of his close scrutiny, made no effort to hide her interest at his words. She had mourned the manner of her refusal of his offer of marriage, although she had never repented the decision itself. But she had come to realize, in the months immediately following his proposal, that he was a much better man than she had given him credit for – his letter, her visit to Pemberley, and the recommendations of his housekeeper there, had accomplished that much. His manner today was such as to recommend him as well. That he viewed their meeting as fortuitous was to be savoured. Nevertheless, she was caught by surprise by his next words.

“I see that our children have finished their treats. We must both, I would assume, be about our business.” His pause was brief, lasting but a few moments, “I would … I wish to see you again, Mrs. Waring. Are you to be in Town much longer?”

“Yes, I plan to stay for another month before going to Longbourn to visit my father for a fortnight.”

“Might I inquire as to where you are living?”

“I am staying with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. They live on Gracechurch Street.” If there was a challenge in her tone, Darcy chose to ignore it. It mattered not to him where she was living or with whom she lived. As long as he could call on her, and that he must now determine.

“May I call on you there?”

Elizabeth’s hesitation was too brief to be noticed by any but the most careful observer; her smile held some warmth as she said, “I would be pleased to receive you, Mr. Darcy.” She paused and looked at him reflectively, “Quite pleased.”

The two children had listened to these exchanges with little interest. If they had been older they would have recognized that Mrs. Waring’s response had pleased him greatly. It would have been obvious from the warmth of his gaze and the small smile that curled his lips. Ann-Marie knew he was acting oddly, but the reason for it was beyond her understanding. All too soon she had finished her treat and it was time to depart. 

They all rose from the table and began to collect their individual parcels. Elizabeth agreed to receive his call the following afternoon and provided the address but declined the offer of his carriage to carry her and her son home."My uncle’s carriage is waiting for us now to carry us to the sweet shop, Mr. Darcy. But I thank you for the offer.”

“Then I will take my leave until tomorrow.”

Their parting was all that was amiable, although Darcy did not relinquish her company until she had entered her carriage and departed. He turned to find his daughter’s gaze fixed upon him. There must be something in his manner which troubled or concerned her; however, as he had no answers to offer, he pretended not to see and scanned the street for sign of his own carriage. Fortunately for his composure, it had been waiting down the street and was already moving towards them. He was hardly of a mind to answer any questions raised by his daughter, for he had too many of his own to ponder. At least, he thought, Ann-Marie would not be overly curious and such questions as she might have were more than likely to be forgotten before they arrived home.


	3. In which past history is reviewed

**October 1811-December 1812**

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy first made the acquaintance of Miss Elizabeth Bennet when he ventured into her home county, Hertfordshire, to visit a friend, Mr. Charles Bingley, who had leased the Netherfield estate which lay within three miles of the Longbourn estate wherein lived the Bennet family. Mr. Darcy was possessed of those attributes most likely to make him attractive to the gentler sex: a fine, tall figure, handsome features and a noble mien. That he was wealthy only fixed more firmly the general approbation of the neighbourhood until his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for they soon found him to be proud, to be above his company, above being pleased, and possessed of a most disagreeable cast to his countenance. Such behaviour was not unusual for Darcy; he truly gave little consideration for the opinions of those he considered beneath him and for whom he held no responsibility. All this was revealed when he, at the urging of his friend, attended a country assembly where he was to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the first time.

Darcy had not been in her presence for more than a few hours when he insulted her most grievously – an insult that she had the misfortune to overhear. The very poor opinion she formed of him from that moment was buttressed quite thoroughly by his display of pride, conceit and a general disdain for all those not of his immediate party. Such was her disapprobation of Darcy that, when George Wickham, possessed with the appearance of a gentleman, arrived to take employment with the ______shire Militia, and spun her a tale of misfortune and mistreatment by one Fitzwilliam Darcy, she believed it without reservation. Wickham’s disclosures removed any last lingering traces of doubt held by Elizabeth in regards to Mr. Darcy who was now proven to not only be proud, disagreeable and disdainful of others, but dishonourable as well.

For his part, while Darcy initially scarcely allowed her to be pretty, over the following weeks, his opinion changed gradually as to fix his interest on her; however, he could not ignore her unsuitability as a marriage partner. Her disadvantages – her connections were poor; her dowry, non-existent; and members of her family prone to display the most improper behaviour in public – were such as to make it impossible for any display of his interest to be made known to her, and certainly not to a wider public. Such caution was essential, for he was, all too frequently, the object of many a young woman more interested in his wealth, estate and status than in his character. Miss Caroline Bingley, sister of the friend with whom he was visiting, had similar ambitions and regularly behaved in the most sycophantic manner, attempting to attach his interest. Her actions greatly tried both his patience and civility. Her behaviour also more forcefully made clear the difference between the two ladies, much to the advantage of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

While Darcy was doing as much as lay within his power to avoid any display of his interest in Elizabeth, Bingley was paying such attentions to Elizabeth’s older sister, Jane, as to earn her most tender regard. A young woman who combined great beauty, common sense, and a willingness to believe everyone as good and kind as herself, Jane Bennet - perhaps as a means of protecting her sensibilities from the effusions of a mother whose primary goal was to arrange advantageous marriages for her daughters - had developed a reserve and serenity of countenance as to quite hide her feelings from all but her closest and most discerning observer, her sister, Elizabeth.

Unfortunately for Bingley and Darcy both, Jane Bennet’s reserve and serenity of countenance quite convinced Darcy that her affections had not been engaged which, in conjunction those other considerations of dowry, connections and the improprieties of her family inherent in her situation, convinced Darcy, when his friend had cause to travel to London, to join him there for the purpose of severing his attachment to Jane Bennet. Bingley’s sisters, who had aspirations of rising to a higher level in society that were not likely to be achieved by their brother’s marriage to a young lady lacking both fortune and connections, willingly joined their efforts to Darcy’s.

However, it is doubtful that any consideration would have worked upon Bingley other than the fact that his closest friend and trusted advisor believed Jane Bennet to be indifferent to him. Although Bingley may have obtained some awareness of Jane Bennet’s regard for him, his own natural modesty prevented him from attaching as much credit to that knowledge as he could, or should, have done. For Bingley was yet a young man, not over three and twenty years of age, and his youth, inexperience and natural modesty had led him to repose a great deal of confidence in the opinions and advice of Darcy, and this confidence he had never any reason to question. In a matter of such importance, Bingley chose to credit such counsel, decided not to return to Hertfordshire, and Jane Bennet was left to repine in the acutest of misery attached to disappointed hopes.

Darcy himself desired to remove from Hertfordshire in order to end his growing infatuation for Elizabeth Bennet. Her circumstances conflicted totally with those considerations of wealth, status, connections and propriety which he had long believed to be essential in any woman with whom he allowed himself to become attached. The conflict between these expectations and his wishes was such that he feared a victory by the latter unless he removed himself from her presence. Time and distance would, he was sure, allow the memories of Elizabeth to fade along with the attraction to her that he harboured.

On Elizabeth’s part, she missed Darcy not at all. She had more pressing concerns to plague her for some weeks. A distant cousin, William Collins, heir to Longbourn and a rather stupid and obsequious gentleman – which is quite a charitable description of him - had visited the Bennet family with the intention of taking one of Mr. Bennet’s five daughters as his wife. In such an aspiration, he was willingly aided by Mrs. Bennet who first dissuaded him against Jane – whom she thought might attach Mr. Bingley – and found no objections when he directed his attentions to her next eldest daughter, Elizabeth. His subsequent proposal and her refusal quite overset Mrs. Bennet appeal to Mr. Bennet proved unavailing, and Mr. Collins was so discouraged by the whole business that, within two days, he proposed to Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s closest friend was twenty-seven and in great danger of never finding a husband and independence from her family and thus accepted Mr. Collins’ offer with alacrity. Their marriage followed in a matter of weeks and Charlotte left Hertfordshire to take up residence at Hunsford Parsonage in the county of Kent where Mr. Collins held a clerical living given him by Lady Catherine de Bourgh who, coincidentally, was sister to Darcy’s deceased mother, and aunt to Darcy.

Prior to her departure for her new home in Hunsford, Mrs. Collins’ requested Elizabeth to visit her over Easter, which the latter did, albeit not without some misgivings. To Hunsford, Elizabeth did go, accompanied by Charlotte’s father and younger sister. Lady Catherine was all that she had expected: self-important, domineering and gifted with the greatest desire and ability to condescend to everyone and to provide advice on any matter within her purview, on most of which she possessed a great deal less knowledge than she credited herself with.

What Elizabeth did not expect was to encounter Darcy during her visit. To the surprise of both, Darcy’s and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, annual visit to their aunt, Lady Catherine, coincided for some weeks with Elizabeth’s stay with the Collinses, and they were thrown much into her company. Elizabeth saw nothing in Darcy’s behaviour to change her opinion of him; however, he quickly found himself more enamoured of her than ever. His initial attempt to avoid her company lasted but a week and then he began to seek her out, whilst she was out walking, in order to court her. It is a testament to his demeanour that his interest in Miss Bennet quite escaped the notice of his aunt, his cousin, the colonel, and Elizabeth.

Unfortunately for his suit, all of Darcy’s attention was directed to overcoming his own objections to a possible match and none of it to winning the lady’s approval. Mayhap he misunderstood her lively manner as flirtatious and thus assumed her to be interested and compliant to his suit. Such expectation were not without foundation, for he had been given to understand, by dint of the interest shown in him by the usual collection of ladies pursuing him, that any lady would wish to attach herself to one such as he, possessed of both wealth and status. He was completely unaware of Elizabeth’s dislike of him, or that her dislike was augmented when Colonel Fitzwilliam inadvertently revealed Darcy’s role in separating Bingley from Jane. Elizabeth’s anger was monumental and her feelings were so much in turmoil as to avoid spending an evening in his company at Rosings Park.

Perceiving her presence, alone in the Parsonage, as an opportunity, Darcy chose to call on her there and make her an offer of marriage. Such was his own turbulence of mind that he couched it in terms which spoke more of the degradation he had to overcome, the poverty of her connections and the impropriety of her family, than of his affections. His words and manner served only to further fuel Elizabeth’s anger and her refusal was as disdainful of his character as his proposal was of hers, calling into question, as it did, his honour in his treatment of Wickham, his role in separating her sister from his best friend, and his treatment and manners to those he considered beneath his notice which, in Hertfordshire, seemed to include just about everyone.

The last meeting between them took place the next day when Darcy handed her a letter which outlined his reasons for acting as he did in the case of Wickham and Bingley. In respect of Wickham, Elizabeth could only be mortified by the revelations of that man’s character and misdeeds. With respect to Bingley, if the letter did not absolve Darcy of all responsibility for his actions on behalf of his friend, his motivation - to protect him from entering a marriage where Jane’s affections were absent – was, at the least, honourable. She could hardly fault his error in this respect, given her own misjudgement of Darcy’s character.

Such thoughts were Elizabeth’s constant companion for the months that followed and, while she never repented her decision to refuse Darcy’s offer of marriage, she soon enough regretted the manner in which she had done so. That she could not be happy in a marriage to a man of such disagreeable manners and pride was her firm conviction; she thought better of him and had gained some respect for his character, was gratified that he had developed an affection for her, but was sure that those objections he had voiced would, given the vehemence of her refusal, soon cause that affection to wither away altogether. That he might renew his addresses, she discounted altogether; for what man will make a second offer for a woman who abused him so dreadfully in rejecting his first offer?

Elizabeth had been invited to accompany her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, who initially had planned a tour of The Lakes but were forced, by circumstances relating to Mr. Gardiner’s business, to limit their tour to Derbyshire where Mrs. Gardiner had once lived. Their travels had taken them to Lambton, and, while there, to Pemberley – Mr. Darcy’s home – which was but five miles distant. Mrs. Reynolds, Pemberley’s housekeeper, had guided their tour of the house and given such a positive account of Darcy as to completely overset many of Elizabeth’s opinions of that gentleman. She did not believe herself to be in love with him, but regret that she could not know him better was accompanied by a wish to do so.

For Darcy's part, the passage of time and reflection on those charges flung at him by Elizabeth had worked such changes in him as to allow him to accept their justice and to effect such modifications in his manners and behaviours as were appropriate. That he might wish to renew their acquaintance, he conceded to himself; but that his attentions were still unwelcome by the object of them, he had no reason to doubt. If he had acquitted himself in her eyes in regards of Wickham, against him remained his actions in respect of Bingley and her sister – undoubtedly a barrier, as he knew Jane to be her most beloved sister. He had had little opportunity to be in Bingley’s company since leaving Hunsford and he was quite unsure how he wished to proceed in the affair of Jane Bennet. He accepted Elizabeth’s assurances in the matter. That she was convinced her sister held Bingley in some regard, he could not question. She must know her sister’s heart better than he; however, his advice to Bingley was based on his own observations and conclusions. He could not, in good conscience, advise his friend towards any course of action based on another’s opinion. He also could not disclose Elizabeth’s opinion without providing a full account of how he came into possession of such knowledge. He knew his friend too well to believe him willing to accept the knowledge otherwise, and too perceptive to accept anything less than the truth. Indeed his own honour would not allow him to dissemble in this instance. Darcy could not bear to reveal the humiliation attending his rejected proposal, and so his only choice was to convince his friend to return to Netherfield and ascertain the truth of Miss Bennet’s affections for himself. Darcy could not bear to face Elizabeth’s disapproval once more and therefore knew he could not accompany Bingley. Perhaps if Bingley were to attach himself to Jane Bennet – marry her, in fact – he could come into Elizabeth’s presence on occasion. If her attitude towards him was as before, he would have to, in future, avoid her altogether; if it were not, then he could consider renewing his attentions.

Several days after she and the Gardiners had arrived in Lambton, Elizabeth received two letters which caused their rapid departure in order to return to Longbourn and London. The letters, from Jane, disclosed that their sister Lydia, who had accompanied the wife of the Colonel of the _____shire Militia when it removed to Brighton, had run off with George Wickham. Lydia’s expectation that he would marry her were as misguided as could be expected of a young girl of but fifteen years, who had never learned proper behaviour and whose days were spent in little but the most frivolous of activities and flirtations. By the time their carriage rolled to a stop in front of Longbourn, Elizabeth had convinced her relatives of the worthlessness of Wickham and that the prospect of a marriage to Lydia was unlikely in the extreme - Lydia’s expectations notwithstanding. The accuracy of her assertions was soon proven, as no trace of either could be found and news of a marriage, eagerly though it might be awaited, was never received. Within days of the news of Lydia’s disgrace becoming general knowledge, the Bennet family was being shunned by the neighbourhood. Calls were not accepted nor returned, and public conversations were avoided. Mr. Bennet noticed little change – his disposition never being one to take pleasure in company – but his wife and daughters suffered greatly as it soon became clear that, of all their acquaintance, only the Philipses would deign to visit and they only because they were related.

Some weeks before the full implications of Lydia’s disgrace had begun to weigh fully down on the residents of Longbourn; Darcy had attempted a private conversation with Bingley on the matter of Jane Bennet. Wishing to find the most appropriate moment, he had, for over a week after their arrival, delayed the interview until finally, recognizing his excuses for what they were, he had broached the subject as they lingered over a late night glass of port. Secure in the knowledge of their privacy, Darcy had opened the subject.

“Charles, have you considered returning to Netherfield?”

Bingley looked at Darcy, surprised and puzzled. Darcy rarely called him Charles and usually only when talking of the most personal of matters. The last time he had done so was when he had cautioned him about Jane Bennet’s affection, or rather, the lack of it. Was this to be of a similar nature? He took a few moments to collect his thoughts before responding.

“My lease is up at Michaelmas. I had not planned to visit there again. There seems no point, does there?”

“It is a very decent estate, Charles, and conveniently located to town. On those merits alone, it would not be a poor investment.”

Bingley considered his friend more closely. This line of conversation puzzled him exceedingly and he made no effort to hide his confusion.

“I do not comprehend your meaning, Darcy. You know very well why I would be reluctant to return. While I cannot say that my affections for Miss Bennet have totally abated, I am, I hope, much more sanguine about her. Nevertheless, I would not wish to be in her company once more and I could not avoid that without being totally uncivil.”

"You do retain some feelings for Miss Bennet, then?”

Bingley sat quietly for several minutes canvassing his feelings about Jane Bennet. Finally he admitted, “My feelings, my affections are … I still consider her one of the most delightful women I have met – and certainly the most beautiful.”

Darcy did not reply immediately, wondering how he might best pursue the matter, “It is her feelings then that remain at issue?”

“That has always been the only issue, Darcy. You must have realized that!”

“Hmmm. True … and it was my assurances that convinced you?”

“You know that is so! I fail to understand why we are discussing this now.”

“I have reason to believe …”

“Yes?” Bingley was feeling a little impatient at the direction of the conversation. It was almost as though his friend was … surely not!

“Darcy, are you saying that you wish me to return to Netherfield? Why?”

Darcy’s reply was slow in coming and marked by a great deal of hesitation. "I have … over the past few months … had cause to reconsider my … opinions about Miss Bennet.”

“Reconsider? What does that mean? You were quite confident that she did not hold any affection for me. What has changed?”

Darcy was slightly taken aback by his friend’s vehemence and to calm matters, rose to refill their glasses and give himself a few moments to consider what to say. Finally he ventured, “It is not so much that I have changed my opinion. How could I? I have not seen Miss Bennet for more than eight months.”

“I detect a "but" here, Darcy.”

“Darcy gave his friend a brief grin, “True! There is a "but". He noticed Bingley’s raised eyebrows and retorted, “Well, I have had … cause to remember my own nature - my reserve, my reticence. How I mask my feelings from others. I began to wonder if Miss Bennet was similarly … afflicted.”

“Why would you wonder? What would have led you to such a conclusion?”

Darcy was beginning to wish his friend was less diligent on this matter. He was pressing him harder than he had expected. To reveal Elizabeth’s opinion, he could not do unless he was prepared to disclose all the particulars of his rejected proposal. That he would not do. And, while he was prepared to accept that Elizabeth believed her sister to hold Bingley in affection, he himself did not know that to be the case. He also could not be sure how much Elizabeth’s own partiality for her sister had biased her opinion; and he would not claim of his own knowledge that such affection existed on the part of Jane Bennet. Perhaps he could hedge the matter.

“Charles, you may remember I visited my Aunt in Kent this past Easter. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was visiting her friend, Charlotte Lucas, who had married a Mr. Collins, Miss Bennet’s cousin and the rector for my aunt’s parish. I had several … conversations with Miss Elizabeth and she indicated that her sister held her feelings very much in reserve.”

“And that is the basis for your opinion?”

“That and the fact that Miss Bennet visited London for several months last winter, staying with her relatives in Cheapside.”

Bingley sat up, suddenly alert."Did she? Did she call on my sisters?”

“I believe so.”

“And?”

“That is all I know, Charles. You must solicit your sisters for anything more. But it does suggest some degree of interest in maintaining the acquaintance, does it not?”

“Maybe. Maybe. I must talk to Caroline.” He looked at Darcy with a touch of asperity in his voice."You knew of her visit and did not inform me. Why?”

“I was wrong not to have done so and apologize most heartedly. My only excuse is that I was concerned at the time that your feelings for Miss Bennet had not abated sufficiently for you to safely meet her. I believe now that it was wrong of me to withhold this information from you.”

Bingley only grunted and a look of displeasure on his countenance remained for some minutes until replaced by one more thoughtful. Further conversation foundered for some minutes on Charles’ abstraction and Darcy was content to have it so until, finally, Charles returned his gaze to Darcy.

“If I should decide to return to Netherfield, I trust you will accompany me.”

Darcy knew he could not face Elizabeth again. Her parting words and the disdain in her countenance and voice as she said, “I had not known you a month, before I you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.” were such as to preclude any hope that she would welcome his presence. And to be in her presence was more than he could bear.

It had taken him some time to understand the full sense of those words; but finally he comprehended the truth. While Wickham had indeed blackened his reputation, and his defence had, he hoped, salvaged and repaired that damage, Elizabeth Bennet had decided against him long before she even met Wickham. Her judgement was based on her understanding of his character, his manners and his treatment of those he and society considered his inferiors. She had judged him, found him wanting, and rendered her verdict – she never wished to see him again. He could only honour her wish. No, a return to Hertfordshire was impossible.

“No, I am sorry Charles, but that will not be possible.”

Bingley looked slightly surprised and Darcy fully expected him to ask for a reason. He could claim a need to remain at Pemberley to deal with the needs of the estate, having been away for many months. Bingley surprised him, however, saying, “That does not altogether surprise me. You did not enjoy your time at Netherfield. Your dislike – nay, disdain - of the society there was clear to everyone.”

Darcy found himself embarrassed at how obvious his incivility had been and was about to apologize when Bingley waved it off.

“It matters not, Darcy.”

Emptying his glass, Bingley made as though to rise and Darcy interjected, “Have you decided to return?”

“Hmmm? Return? ... No, I have not decided. I must talk to Caroline.”

Without further ado, he lurched to his feet, stretched and ambled slowly out of the room, leaving his friend to contemplate their discussion. He was a little surprised that Bingley had not been more enthusiastic about returning to Netherfield; and what was his intent in talking to his sister? After a few more minutes he resolved to simply observe his friend’s behaviour and discern if he had reached a decision.

As it turned out, the only further information he was to glean was conveyed by Caroline Bingley who mentioned that her brother had asked about Miss Bennet’s visit. Her manner expressed some displeasure in Darcy’s role in revealing that such a visit occurred and, when queried about what she had told her brother, smiled archly and escaped without saying anything further. Before he left, Bingley revealed his intention to visit his relatives in the north and Darcy could only suspect that any thoughts of returning to Netherfield had been discarded.

Of Miss Lydia Bennet’s fate, a delicacy of mind forbids that the particulars be disclosed. Suffice it to say that she was deserted by her faithless swain not more than two months after leaving Brighton and the day after her scant funds had been exhausted. Left penniless, alone, lacking any useful skill (other than that which she had plied without recompense for Wickham’s gratification for two months), either unwilling or unable to return to the safety of her family (if she even knew how to reach them), and deserted in one of the most dissolute parts of London, her prospects were as bleak as could be imagined. Undoubtedly, even the prospect of life in a poor brothel would be, to her, a blessing as it at least would ensure the availability of food and lodging. This is the situation she soon found herself enduring. While it may be kind to say that Miss Lydia’s mistakes should not have resulted in such a fate, the misery she inflicted upon her family through her own thoughtless and improper behaviour really does not warrant as much sympathy as many might want to supply.

The months that followed were surprisingly quiet for Darcy and Elizabeth. He remained at Pemberley for the winter, only returning to London in February to escort his sister to his aunt, the Countess, who had agreed to supervise Georgiana’s presentation at court and her entry into society.

At Longbourn, the isolation had continued to the point where the Bennet sisters now only infrequently ventured into Meryton where they were treated with minimal civility by the neighbours and had chosen to forsake such entertainments as the local assembly altogether. What purpose would be served by their presence at such an event when dancing partners were non-existent? Mr. Bennet seemed impervious to the isolation; his library had always been his refuge and the absence of visitors and entertainments simply allowed him the pleasure of spending more time there. His words, when he returned following his futile search for his daughter, were telling. On Elizabeth’s expressing her sorrow for what he had endured, he replied, “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it. Let me, for once in my life, feel how much I am to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.”

And so it proved to be. To his daughters’ distress, he remained completely oblivious and, to that of his wife, he might well appear pleased. For Mrs. Bennet, such isolation was of the cruelest nature. Her great pleasures were to find husbands for her daughters and to gossip. Denied both such gratifications, she, after some months of bewailing the injustices inflicted upon her by her husband, her daughters, Mr. Wickham, Colonel Forster and anyone else she could remember, began a slow decline which saw her retire to her rooms more frequently and for a greater duration. By the time six months had passed, she was not in company with her daughters more than two hours a day and the shrill tones of her voice were noticeably absent within the walls of Longbourn. If her spirits were revived when her brother, Mr. Gardiner, and his family visited them over the Christmas season, the improvement did not survive their departure a week later by more than a few days. The Gardiners were not slow to realize the depression of spirits that permeated Longbourn and a plan was quickly devised as to allow each of the four sisters to visit them in London for a month in turn.

 


	4. In which Mr. Wickham has no cause to be pleased

**February – April, 1813 - Longbourn**

The winter had not been particularly severe. Spells of cold weather persisted with frequent days of severe, bitter rain that occasionally produced snow and ice. Weather that, if there were places to go and people to see, would have rendered such activity almost impossible. As there were no places to go, and people would not have received them if they had visited, the prospect was even more dismal, for there could not be even the pleasure of anticipating an improvement.

Elizabeth found the days even more burdensome with the absence of Jane whose turn it was to visit the Gardiners in Town. The loss of her companionship and conversation could not be made good by any other in the household. Her father remained secluded in his bookroom and discouraged any company, her mother did likewise in her chambers, and Kitty and Mary, despite their efforts, were poor substitutes. Yet she could not begrudge Jane the opportunity to be out in society. If her recent letters were an indication, her spirits had finally recovered from the disappointment that was Bingley. It was possible, Elizabeth conceded, that her sister’s improvement had begun before she left for Town, but that she, Elizabeth, had been too much in her company to have been aware of it, as familiarity ofttimes does with those with whom we are closest.

The arrival of two letters, one from her sister and the other from her aunt, produced an almost immediate raising of spirits throughout the house as they contained news of some import. Jane had a suitor! A most worthy gentleman, according to her aunt – although polite society will not afford him that distinction - by the name of James Simmons. He was the son of a business associate of Elizabeth’s uncle; and had taken charge of his family’s business. He was about thirty years of age, possessed of a very respectable income and, most importantly, as Mrs. Bennet was once heard to say, in want of a wife.

“and, if our aunt is to be trusted – and she has spoken of him much more than Jane attempted in her letter – Mr. Simmons is while not very handsome, he is possessed of most gentlemanly manners. Most important, she assures us, is that he appears quite smitten with our sister. But how could he not be?”

Their mother, upon hearing the happy exclamations of her daughters, came down to learn the cause of the excitement. She was quickly apprised of the news and her effusions were all that could be expected until she learned that Mr. Simmons made his living from trade, which fact caused a reversal in her opinion and sent her directly to her husband’s bookroom to persuade him to prevent the acquaintance by whatever means were at his disposal. However, Mr. Bennet was not inclined to do so himself, nor to allow her to travel to town to accomplish that purpose. He also refused to allow her to demand her daughter’s return, and thus Mrs. Bennet stormed back to her chambers feeling very much put upon once more.

This bit of excitement did not deterred Elizabeth from continuing to describe the circumstances of Jane’s meeting with Mr. Simmons.

“Apparently, he encountered them at the theatre over a week ago and asked to call the very next day. Aunt says she spoke to Jane afterwards, as Jane, in her usual wont, was extremely circumspect in her behaviour – perhaps to the point of not indicating any especial pleasure in Mr. Simmons’ company. Fortunately, our aunt invited him to dine the following evening, which he was pleased to accept. Aunt Gardiner writes that she canvassed Jane’s opinion and, finding her quite disposed towards liking the gentleman, encouraged her to be more forthcoming in expressing her appreciation and interest in his company. She was gratified to see Jane put aside some small portion of her reserve that evening.”

Elizabeth stopped to ensure that their mother was not present before saying, “I suspect Jane is more comfortable doing so in the absence of our mother who would happily parade Jane's feelings before the entire world should they be displayed. In any event, Mr. Simmons appears to be quite determined and has called on Jane several times since then. The only sad part of the whole business is that our aunt has requested of my father that Jane’s visit be extended to promote the attachment. I cannot complain, especially in light of mama’s objections, although it means that my own visit must be postponed for some time. I would not by any means wish to suspend Jane’s pleasure.”

The progress of Jane’s courtship was followed avidly by her three sisters; each letter becoming the subject of discussion until the arrival of the next, and, in the process, lifting their spirits greatly. It was in early April that the news, long expected and greatly desired, was finally imparted.

The day being unseasonably mild with a warmish southerly breeze, Elizabeth had taken Jane’s letter to read, as she sat in the garden. It could not, she believed, have contained happier news. Her dearest sister was to be wed. James Simmons had made Jane an offer, and she was most happy to accept it. Elizabeth found it hard to credit that the passage of a scant twelve months had worked such a change in her sister’s fortunes. Her letter overflowed with more happiness than Elizabeth had never seen Jane express before. Certainly, Bingley had never inspired such profusions of happiness. Her aunt also wrote to provide those details which Jane would not vouchsafe. Suffice it to say that her Aunt Gardiner was pleased with the attachment and assured her that Jane’s affections were totally engaged. Elizabeth thought, “What matter Charles Bingley now? I am convinced that the man was never worthy of her and that Mr. Darcy may well have done Jane a favour by encouraging her separation from Bingley.”

They were to marry in June; the wedding to take place in London and Elizabeth was to stand witness for her sister. Their aunt had, at Jane’s request, agreed to organize the affair. Initially, Elizabeth was surprised at her sister’s decision, as she had thought Jane would wish to be married from Longbourn; however, it appeared that other factors had dissuaded her sister from doing so. From Jane’s letters it became clear that her mother’s distaste for her marriage to a man engaged in trade – an opinion which she had expressed strongly to all at Longbourn and in letters to Jane and Mrs. Gardiner – may have contributed to Jane’s taking such a step. It had not taken a great deal of time or thought for Elizabeth to conclude that her mother’s view of the matter was of little consequence and to decide her own support and encouragement would be Jane’s to command.

Of equal importance, and readily discerned from the tone of her Jane’s’s letters, it was clear that she did not want to be forced to recognize and be civil to those who had spurned her and her family for the past year. Elizabeth could find no fault with this, and thought that should she ever, which seemed unlikely, be faced with the same decision, she would do likewise. She spoke with their father, who had received a letter from Uncle Gardiner outlining the settlement, and he was quite happy for Jane, although Elizabeth suspected he would view her own absence from Longbourn with increasing displeasure. She found it difficult to understand such a concern, as he was little in company with her or his family. She now only visited his bookroom to discuss estate matters. Her love for her father had not diminished, but she found it increasingly hard to be in his company without feeling greatly aware of his failures in his duty to his family. That he had become increasingly aware of her opinion and discouraged her attendance, became more obvious as time passed.

Elizabeth, after some thought, decided that her father’s increasing withdrawal and disapprobation, and her mother’s unhappiness with Jane’s marriage, were no longer of any import, and she would not allow such concerns to suppress her pleasure at Jane’s joy and her removal from Longbourn.

Mr. Simmons, Jane and the Gardiners had travelled to Longbourn a week or so after the engagement had been announced. The initiative was at Mr. Simmons instigation. He wished to become acquainted with his betrothed’s family and so to Longbourn they came. His reception by Jane’s sisters was all that he could have wished for: their expressions of delight at Jane’s good fortune; their pleasure in finally meeting him when all they had previously known was learned from letters from their aunt and Jane; and the prospect of being able to visit a married sister in London, only fixed his desirable qualities more firmly in their minds. They were not behind in expressing their approbation. With Elizabeth, in particular, he became quite close, enjoying her lively manner and clever conversation. That she was the favourite sister of his beloved, only enhanced her character in his mind and to her, and her only, was extended an open invitation to visit them whenever she wished to do so.

The separation of more than three months had not been greatly eased by frequent correspondence and that first night, ensconced in Elizabeth’s bed, Jane had finally the chance to open her heart to her sister.

"You must tell me all, Jane. Your letters were hardly sufficient.”

Jane smiled, “You know I am not as easy a writer as you, Lizzy. I find it difficult to put my thoughts on paper.”

“Well I am here now and you may speak as you wish. Any confidences you shared will not pass beyond these walls.”

“You recollect that our uncle and aunt usually take me to the theatre when I visit. We went to see ‘Love’s Labour Lost’. The theatre was, as usual, quite a crush and it took us some time to move to our seats. As we did so, a gentleman approached claiming an acquaintance with uncle. He proved to be the son of a man with whom uncle had done much business in the past and the son, having recognized uncle, wished to make his acquaintance. We were prevented from talking overmuch at that time since the bells signalling the start of the performance began to ring. Mr. Simmons did come upon us during the intermission and talked with aunt and myself for some time while uncle was getting us some refreshments.

“He called on us the next day – it seems that our aunt had given him the address – and we spent an enjoyable half hour conversing on a variety of subjects. He was a very interesting gentleman and I found his company pleasant and most agreeable. To my surprise – although aunt confessed afterwards that she had thought him more interested in me than in my uncle – before he left he asked if he could call on me. I was quite flustered – I had certainly no expectation of such a request - but I somehow managed to express my willingness to receive him. He called several times thereafter – almost daily, in truth – and frequently dined with us.

I greatly enjoy his conversation; we talk of so many things. You know, when I consider Mr. Bingley, as amiable as I found him; his conversation was not as interesting. You will hardly credit it, I am sure, but I found myself reading books I would not have thought to even open so as to be able to contribute to our conversations. Mr. Bingley never talked of his business and only rarely of his family. Mr. Simmons is very proud of his background and not afraid to talk about his family and their business. I quite enjoyed the experience. He asks for my opinion on various matters and then discusses them with me. It was … oh, so very different from what I had become accustomed to here at Longbourn. It seemed much similar to how our aunt and uncle deal with one another. I found my respect for Mr. Simmons growing with every encounter. He is quite amiable, but very decided in his opinions, although I believe him to be careful in forming them. I have come to appreciate such firmness and decisiveness.”

“He seems like a very fine gentleman and I applaud your choice of a husband. I think you will do very well together. He is not as handsome as Mr. Bingley, but I am most favourably impressed by his character. He reminds me very much of our Uncle Gardiner in manners and comportment.”

“I will not have you speak so poorly of my future husband, Lizzy.” laughed Jane. “It is true that my first impression of Mr. Simmons was that he was rather plain-featured – I am afraid I even said as much to our aunt; but the more I was in his company, the more pleased I became with his countenance. I now find him quite attractive and wonder that I had ever thought otherwise.”

~~~

Mr. Bennet’s approbation was easily won. Satisfied that the gentleman was clearly enamoured of his daughter, that his income was more than sufficient – superior to Longbourn’s, in fact, and adequate to assist in the care of Mrs. Bennet when her husband died - to support a wife and family. He was happy to sign the marriage settlement, knowing that his Brother Gardiner would have ensured that Jane was protected. Once his blessing was given, he was content to retire to his bookroom; if Mr. Simmons had hopes of establishing a closer relationship with Jane’s father, he was to be disappointed.

Mrs. Bennet’s approbation was not to be won so easily, however. While she was persuaded by both husband and brother to moderate her objections, her manner clearly signalled her dissatisfaction. By whatever process of reasoning that was employed, and to which everyone else was a stranger, the unhappy recipient of her displeasure was Elizabeth, not Jane. Mrs. Bennet spared no opportunity to protest that she had been ill-used by everyone and, in particular, her second oldest daughter, who, if she had married Mr. Collins as was her duty to her family, none of the unpleasantness – and everyone was left to presume that Jane’s marriage must be included in that list – would have occurred, for surely Lydia would not have felt compelled to elope had the security of her dear mother been assured. Such were her lamentations that finally Mrs. Gardiner and Jane persuaded her to retire to her chambers. It was with no small relief to everyone that she remained there for most of the three day visit by Mr. Simmons, only presenting herself at meals.

  
**June - London, 1813**

Mr. Darcy stood alone – well, as alone as a man can be on a dock bustling with a multitude of labourers loading and unloading cargo from scores of ships. Lighters plied their way from ship to dock ferrying those cargos and stores in an unending stream. Shouted instructions, jeers and curses mingled with the sounds of gulls and raised such a cacophony of sound as would quite embarrass a busy London street. None of it impinged on his consciousness. As he watched a particular ship, bound for Australia, weigh anchor, he wished he could take some satisfaction in the sight. One festering sore had been dealt with now, but the harm that had been left behind would admit of no solution that he could see. Wickham had the satisfaction, unknown though it was to him, of destroying, perhaps forever, Darcy’s most passionate hopes and dreams for the future. His revenge, if it were known to him, would be complete.

It had been, he knew, most unlikely that Elizabeth Bennet would once more visit her friend, Mrs. Collins, at Hunsford at Easter, as she had done the previous year. The knowledge that he and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, made their annual visit to their aunt at Rosings Park at that time would surely persuade her against making such a visit. Her denunciation of him and his character, although dulled by time, still haunted him on occasion. He hoped that his letter would have absolved him of some of the charges against him, but his manner, his very dealings with her and his proposal had spoken too well of his conceit and pride; and those charges he could not hope to address in his letter. It had taken some months for him to realize how severely he had wounded her and to begin the process of change; but, unless he could be in her company once more, he could not show her that he had done so. And he knew no way of making her acquaintance once more without calling on her directly. Given her previous contempt for him, he could not see how such a call would be accepted, much less welcomed.

Correspondence from his aunt in planning his next visit to Rosings Park did not reveal any knowledge of Elizabeth's presence, and he could hardly inquire about her without raising concerns and questions from Lady Catherine. He and his cousin arrived, received the usual suffocating attentions from their aunt and, out of courtesy, called on Mrs. Collins the day after their arrival. The visit started out well. His cousin, as was his wont, conversed amiably with Mrs. Collins and then, remembering her pleasant friend who had visited the previous year, inquired after Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Colonel, of course, had not, at this time, been made privy to his cousin’s dealings with Miss Bennet. Mrs. Collins was clearly discomposed by the inquiry and, before she could form a response, her husband interceded.

"I have, with your aunt's gracious condescension and, as ever, mindful of her most excellent advice, severed all connection to that unfortunate family who have fallen into ruin due to the wanton behaviour of my youngest cousin who ran away last summer - to elope it was said, although proof of such a marriage has not been shown - with a most undeserving person. Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in my cousin Lydia proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence by her parents, though I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, the family is grievously to be pitied, in which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have related the entire affair. They agree with me in apprehending that this false step in one daughter would be injurious to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says, would connect themselves with such a family. In this outcome, we are assured, as the family has not been admitted to good society in their neighbourhood and has been shunned by all of society. I am satisfied, moreover, to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, that I was able to avoid an attachment to my Cousin Elizabeth, so avidly promoted by her mother, for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all the attendant disgrace. Mrs. Collins and I are of one mind on this, we shall have nothing further to do with the family and, once I inherit the estate, I shall expel them from it immediately so as to avoid sharing in their contamination. Your aunt has recommended such a course, and I have never erred in following her most gracious advice."

Mr. Collins was quite insensible to the amazement and displeasure with which his words were received by those to whom they were addressed. That his opinion was not wholly shared by his wife, whom Darcy could observe directly, seemed likely as her countenance assumed the most tight-lipped appearance. The Colonel shared a glance with his cousin, neither of them quite knowing how to respond, until Darcy ventured to say, "This is quite shocking, indeed. I can feel nothing but dismay for Miss Bennet."

Mr. Collins was not inclined to allow the matter to rest, "Her behaviour, I am sure, was little better than her sister's. In Lady Catherine’s words, she ..."

Darcy could be silent no longer and interrupted, "Mr. Collins! That is quite enough, sir! Miss Bennet is everything that is proper, and it does you no credit, sir, to disparage her so. My aunt’s opinion on the matter is not one I share."

Colonel Fitzwilliam echoed his cousin’s strictures.

Mr. Collins was taken aback and his thoughts warred between accepting the rebuke of his patroness's most favoured nephew and his concern that that nephew had spoken in terms which contradicted those of his patroness. Silence was his refuge as he tried vainly to assemble his thoughts - even one thought would do, if, perchance, he could find one, a result that Darcy doubted – and to respond so as to insult neither his patroness nor her nephews. Mrs. Collins's countenance, on the other hand, showed her satisfaction at this defence of her friend and it was she who Darcy addressed.

"Mrs. Collins, I realize that this is a distressing business, but neither I, nor Colonel Fitzwilliam, are privy to the circumstances. If it is not too much of a burden, could you relate them to us?"

A glare at Mr. Collins was sufficient to silence any objections he might harbour. Mrs. Collins took a few moments to organize her thoughts.

"You must understand I have not heard all the particulars. My husband has refused to admit of any correspondence with the Bennets and all that I have learned is from my parents."

Darcy and the Colonel nodded their understanding and the puzzled glance directed by the Colonel at his cousin, appeared to be noted by Mrs. Collins who had, at one time, suspected Darcy of some interest in Elizabeth Bennet, but had finally come to believe herself mistaken. She put such thoughts aside and continued, "It seems that Lydia Bennet left with a militia officer from Brighton - intending to elope, apparently. The officer - Mr. Wickham ..."

"Wickham!" Darcy and the Colonel spoke almost as one and quite startled the Collinses. Mrs. Collins looked at Darcy and responded, "Yes! George Wickham, who has proven to be a most disreputable person, leaving debts and debaucheries behind him in Meryton, although none of it known until he had been gone for some months." She looked at Darcy, "He spoke poorly of you, Mr. Darcy. Very poorly!"

"Indeed. I am sure he did." Darcy looked at the floor for some moments before returning a severe gaze at Mrs. Collins. "What has been done to recover her? Has she been found?"

Mrs. Collins could only shake her head.

"And the family is being shunned?"

Mrs. Collins nodded.

Darcy looked at Mr. Collins for a minute or so, his gaze as severe as Mrs. Collins had ever seen it. When he finally spoke, it was in such a tone as to brook no opposition.

"Mr. Collins, you are a man of God, one who is expected to lead by example as well as by words. Miss Lydia's sisters should not be punished for that over which they have no control. On their father's death, which I hope will not occur for many years, it behoves you as a rector to demonstrate that charity which is so much a part of our Christian faith. I expect no more from you, and I will accept no less. Mrs. Bennet, should she be alive, and such daughters as remain with her, must be allowed sufficient time to remove themselves from Longbourn. It is your duty, sir, as a Christian and your obligation as a rector to ensure that such is the case. Am I perfectly understood, Mr. Collins?"

Mr. Collins could only nod. Whether he would follow such direction in the future was far from assured - such was his reverence for Lady Catherine. A slight nod from Mrs. Collins signalled her agreement; however, neither the Colonel nor Darcy could be certain that she had sufficient influence with her husband to direct his decisions appropriately, especially if her directions opposed those of Lady Catherine, for whom Mr. Collins’ reverence exceeded that which he held even for the Lord himself.

Darcy and the Colonel took their leave shortly thereafter. Colonel Fitzwilliam mused on the matter as they strolled back to Rosings, commiserating with Miss Bennet's situation and commenting more than once on the perfidy of Wickham. "It is a shame, Darce, that we could not deal with him properly after Ramsgate. I would have gotten much pleasure from crossing swords with him, although I doubt he would have accepted a challenge. Courage and honour are not characteristics with which he is intimately familiar."

Darcy feared to speak. Such words as he might utter would have shocked his cousin and revealed the distress he was trying hard to conceal. That he offended Elizabeth in his proposal, he had accepted, but he had clung to a hope that he might encounter her once again, earn her forgiveness, and possibly win her good opinion. Now she had another, more serious charge to lay to his account. He could not avoid the suspicion that his concern to protect his own sister’s reputation had made him abdicate a responsibility to ensure that Wickham could not harm another young woman. He had failed in that charge. And Elizabeth, and her family, had paid a heavy price for his reluctance to act. His pride - his abominable pride - had not allowed him to expose Wickham's dealings and character; and he had been allowed to prey unrestricted. Darcy’s anger drove the pace of his walk and they had reached the front steps of Rosings when he turned to his cousin saying, "It will not do. I cannot allow Wickham to continue in his dissolute habits. I can do naught for Miss Lydia, but I can take such steps as are necessary to ensure his vicious tendencies harm no one else."

Fitzwilliam was only momentarily surprised by his cousin's statement. "What do you intend, Darce?"

"I am not sure but I must consider the matter further."

"Well, I may be able to help. Desertion, even if from only the Militia, is not a trivial matter, after all."

Entrance into the house brought the discussion to a close and, while it was talked of between them at times during the remainder of their visit, they departed from Rosings beforetime, staying only a week - claiming a press of business which required a return to London - and speaking only once of the matter in Lady Catherine's presence. On that occasion, Lady Catherine censured Elizabeth and the Bennets. She was exceedingly unhappy when her favoured nephew chastised her strongly for her behaviour and they had passed the remainder of his visit speaking only to the other as circumstances necessitated. Mr. Collins was equally careful to avoid any such discussion with either Darcy or the Colonel and such conversation as he did possess was confined largely to Lady Catherine. Darcy spoke very briefly to Mrs. Collins but she could provide little further information on the subject other than to assure him that, to her knowledge, the remaining four sisters were well and living at Longbourn.

A week after returning to London, Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to inform Darcy that Wickham had not been apprehended by the militia and was still facing a desertion charge as well as other charges relating to his conduct in absconding with a young woman under the protection of his commander, debts of honour and sundry other offences which, in total, would ensure a prolonged stay in the stockade. Darcy had also set in motion a search for Wickham, using such resources as might be familiar with the dregs of London society. His solicitors had been instructed to redeem those debts that Wickham had left behind in Brighton and Meryton and, by the end of May, had accumulated such an amount as would, by themselves, ensure a long spell in debtor's prison for Wickham. All that was required was to find and capture him. To that end, a fifty pound reward was issued for information leading to his arrest and capture.

Some two months later, the efforts of the handful of men set to that task proved successful and Wickham had been arrested and, within a fortnight, court-martialled and now awaited sentencing. Darcy requested, and was granted, permission to speak with him prior to that event. The initiative provided little comfort to either of them. Wickham was as presentable as was possible for someone who had been living in the stews of London for the best part of a year. The signs of dissipation which had only lightly marked his face in Meryton were now more pronounced and any suggestion of the gentleman in his address was hidden by a scruffy appearance and the absence of those gentle manners which he had used to win the approval of genteel society. It was his misfortune that he had never been a successful gambler - his belief in his prowess was based on a conviction of personal superiority unsupported by any demonstrated expertise. He won just frequently enough to believe he could win more often – which he never did. Unfortunately for him, his current gambling companions were less inclined to allow him to display his ineptitude, unsupported by funds, than militia officers had been; and his situation had grown so poor as to cause one of those to whom he owed money to betray his whereabouts for the reward offered. The bruises that were still evident on his face suggested his capturers had not treated him gently.

Darcy considered him closely. He could find no particle of pity for the man who faced him. Much of the assurance and bravado that characterized Wickham’s manner was gone. For the first time in his life, he was facing the consequences of his choices; and Darcy could feel nothing but satisfaction and made no attempt to conceal that emotion when he spoke.

"Well, George, it looks like your future is bleak. Fitzwilliam advises me that hanging is a possibility, although unlikely; a flogging and prison look more possible. After the prison term is done, I will have you in debtor's prison - perhaps until you die of gaol fever."

Wickham managed a sneer, "And why then should I hesitate to smear Georgiana's name?"

Darcy laughed, "Who would believe you now? Two years later and in the stockade? The ranting of a vengeful man. Nothing more! No one will care and you will die in the Marshalsea and good riddance!"

"Why did you ask to speak to me then? To gloat?"

Darcy made as to leave the room, but stopped and turned to face Wickham once more, "I have a question to ask you. If you answer honestly, I may be willing to seek a measure of clemency for you – out of respect for our fathers and no other reason - although I doubt mine would extend it, given what you attempted with Georgiana." He paused briefly, "I suggest you consider your answer most carefully. I could ask the court to sentence you to transportation - Australia - and a prison term there. If I am to do so, however, I wish to know what happened to Lydia Bennet. Satisfy this demand and I will speak on your behalf."

The hopeful look on Wickham's face disappeared and, from that alone, Darcy knew there was little to be gleaned. As it turned out, Wickham had left her in September in a seedy inn - the name of which he could no longer even remember - in one of the worst parts of London. What little money they had between them, had accompanied him on his departure and he had given no further thought to her circumstances, nor had he cared.

As Darcy turned to go, he took a final look at his erstwhile boyhood friend. Not a trace of him was left. He searched Wickham’s eyes and could see no sign of remorse. Nothing but hatred and it left him feeling a certain disquiet as he turned away.

Darcy had left him then, spoken on his behalf - notwithstanding the strong objections of Colonel Fitzwilliam who wished, in his words, ‘to see the blackguard treated as harshly as possible’ - to the presiding officer at the court-martial and now he stood on the dock watching the ship carrying Wickham begin its journey to Australia. He waited until the ship was lost from sight before returning to his carriage, wishing to think of Wickham no further. He had erred in the past by ignoring Wickham’s activities; however, now that he was banished to the Antipodes he need concern himself no further.

His search for Lydia had proven fruitless. Mrs. Younge had little knowledge of her. An offer of a reward had produced any number of young women claiming to be Lydia Bennet; however, all had proven to be imposters and he now questioned whether she had even survived and, if she had, whether she would want to return to her family or they, to welcome her back. He could not, he believed, ally his family to the Bennets at this time, even if there was a possibility that Elizabeth might accept him. Georgiana was to enter society in the next year and her prospects would be severely tarnished by such a connection.

  
**Gracechurch Street, London, 1813**

“Lizzy!”

Jane’s soft voice recalled her to her surroundings.

“Lizzy, Are you well? You looked so … lost almost.”

“I am well, my dearest sister.” Elizabeth knew she had to shake off her introspective mood for her sister’s sake. She could not dwell on her own circumstances, at least not at this time. After all, a sister's marriage is not a time for sadness and she could take unalloyed pleasure in Jane’s happiness.

The wedding had been held in London at the Gardiner’s church rather than in Longbourn, and the preparations were undertaken with little assistance from Mrs. Bennet. Jane had been uncharacteristically firm, even blunt, on the matter and the direction for the wedding was placed in the hands of her Aunt Gardiner and Mr. Simmons’ mother. Mrs. Bennet was allowed to be of assistance in the acquisition of the wedding clothes, although, even here, Jane deferred to her aunt’s counsel. As she was to relate to her sister later, she did not repine the loss of her mother’s effusions in the smallest part.

Elizabeth smiled at her sister, “You are happy, Jane?”

“How can I not be? I could only wish as much for you.”

“I believe that until I have your goodness, I shall never have your happiness, Jane. But maybe, just maybe, I shall be put in the path of another Mr. Collins.”

They both began to laugh and their amusement drew the attention of others in the room, one of whom approached to claim his bride. James Simmons drew his wife’s hand onto his arm.

“I believe, Mrs. Simmons, that we should take our leave.”

They were to leave to spend a fortnight in Ramsgate and, if they left soon, could reach their cottage there before dark. Under his determined direction, The couple were able to make their departure a quarter hour later, which prevented Mrs. Bennet from the fullest expressions of her pleasure in having a daughter wed, even if it was only to a tradesman with an income of three thousand a year. Mrs. Bennet had reconciled herself to the match when she comprehended that she would be received by her neighbours and thus allowed to impart the news of the Bennet’s turn in circumstances. Elizabeth took some comfort that her mother did not have the opportunity to remind them all how badly Jane had been treated by Bingley, who had five thousand per year, nor that her ungrateful second daughter had spurned a most eligible marriage offer from Mr. Collins.

As Elizabeth waved her farewell to her sister and her new husband, she felt her Aunt Gardiner’s presence by her side.

“I hope, Lizzy, that you are planning to stay with us for the fortnight before our trip to Cornwall?”

“I was hoping you would ask me, aunt. I will gladly stay.”

“Your father will not object?”

“I sometimes fear that my father has little attention left for his family. We see him so rarely …”

“He still feels very much to blame, Lizzy.”

"Does he? I could have wished he had done so earlier."

Madeline Gardiner was about to comment on the bitterness in her niece’s voice but then thought better of it. She, after all, did not bear the opprobrium that Elizabeth and her sisters faced daily.

“Come, my dear. Let me tell you of my plans for the next fortnight. Now that I have you to myself, I and the children shall quite overset you with activities.”

“I look forward to it, aunt. It shall be a most welcome change.”


	5. In which Miss Bennet travels and Mr. Darcy considers society

**August, 1813 – Sloane Street, London**

Jane had ventured out into their small garden and there her husband found her. The breeze had lessened the heat of the day and dispersed much of the miasma of the London air. The garden, in the cool of the evening, was an attractive spot and, he thought, greatly enhanced by the presence of his wife. His business had made him late to supper, not an unusual event, and the prospect of an evening ensconced with his wife in their bed, was most … enticing. He rather thought his chances of persuading her to be of a like opinion rather good until, that is, he noticed the many pages of the letter she was reading. He had little doubt as the writer.

“I see you have finally received a letter from Lizzy.”

His wife looked up at him with her happiest smile – the one that turned his heart over – and said, “Indeed, four full pages. Let me read you some portions.”

_“… We arrived late this evening in Falmouth after leaving the town of Chacewater in the morning. We had expected to arrive here much earlier but chose to visit Fellowes Park, home of the Fellowes family and an estate recommended to us by the innkeeper. My suspicions that he was prejudiced to favour the family by its importance to the town proved erroneous and served once more as a rebuke to my habit of thinking the worst of people. The estate is quite attractive, with grounds where human artifice has not been allowed to supplant nature’s own beauty. The house was quite grand, old, but well-kept and finely, though not extravagantly, furnished. We encountered the family - Mr. Fellowes, his wife and his eldest son – while touring the grounds, an activity which they also had enjoyed, the day being sunny and quite warm. To our surprise they were most gracious towards us, invited us to tea – which we accepted – and conversed most readily with us about our travels. Unfortunately, we could not accept their invitation to dine – I hardly expected such a courtesy – as we were expected in Falmouth that evening.”_

"They stayed in Falmouth for several days and then left for St. Ives.“ said Jane reading on. "She speaks of their activities in Falmouth but nothing of great significance."

_“… We departed early this morning from Falmouth, arriving in St. Ives rather late, as we made a few stops along the way. Our plan is to spend several days exploring the area. The view of the beaches at Carbis Bay, which presented itself as we drove past, makes them an object for tomorrow if my aunt and uncle will humour me. I had become so habituated with the rugged cliffs of the coastline of Cornwall that to see such a stretch of sandy beach quite overset me altogether. It is called Porthminster Beach and I cannot wait to walk from one end to the other. I regret that I must, as a proper young lady, wear my shoes. I could wish to be a child again and enjoy the feel of the sand on my bare feet. It will not do! I wonder if I can persuade my aunt to go sea-bathing with me? I suspect not and I cannot venture to do it alone.”_

“Lizzy must have talked my aunt into sailing – I wonder at it as Aunt Gardiner does not like sailing at all, she always complains of being ill. In any event, they appeared to have had a fine day and no word of our aunt being sick.”

_“… and we sailed for several hours and ventured out along the coast as far as ______ before turning back. There was a fair breeze during our trip and Mr. Hillier, the captain and crew of the boat – called a pinnace – opined that it was perfect sailing weather. It was a very warm day but the breeze and the spray thrown up as we moved through the water made it delightfully comfortable. Oddly, Uncle Gardiner found his stomach was … unsettled by the waves, although aunt and I were very much at our ease. Our aunt quite enjoyed repaying past grievances on the matter, I believe. Mr. Harris sailed us along Hayles Beach which is a few miles removed from St. Ives and must be all of three miles in length. It makes Portminster Beach look very insignificant.”_

“Oh dear!”

“What is the matter, dearest?” Simmons was stroking his wife’s arm, hoping to distract her from the letter.

“Lizzy received a letter from Mama!”

“From your mother? That is rather odd, is it not? She has not written to your sister for quite some time. Why now while she is travelling?”

“Jane shook her head, “Listen and learn, my love … and do not stop your particular … distracting attentions.”

“Are they working?”

“Yes, but not enough to prevent me from reading this letter.” She teased. "I will not bore you with all the details but listen to what Lizzy writes.”

_“… letter from my mother arrived this morning. I wondered that she would bother to write. She has not done so for some months and rarely when I travel; however, it all became clear when I read it. Kitty must have spoken to her about our visit to the Fellowes’ estate and the presence of the young Mr. Fellowes who was accompanying his parents that day. I do not remember if I mentioned his wife, who was visiting her parents who lived at a neighbouring estate, but I suspect my mother believed him to be unmarried, as she was quite like her old self in pressing me to engage his interest. She was very unhappy with me and my aunt and uncle that we did not accept the dinner invitation during which, to quote Mama “I could secure his interest!” She will, I am sure, be desolate to learn that the gentleman is happily married with a young family. At least it will discourage her reproaches of me in this regard, although if she is fixed on the matter of my marrying, I anticipate further intrusions into my peace of mind. It is, however, a sad fact that, while my mother once could boast of dining with four and twenty families, it is a pitifully small number of families from which to secure a husband even should any of their sons wish to establish such a connection with one of us. That none are so inclined at the moment must depress any efforts by my mother. Should she learn that the only interest of a marital nature that I have drawn in recent months is from one or two shopkeepers in Meryton looking to acquire a gentleman’s daughter as a spouse, my mother’s nerves might never recover. I would not despise a shopkeeper if he were a man I could admire, but such is not the case in these instances. I could not encourage the interest of such men and my mother is happier not knowing. I have spoken to Kitty and Mary on the matter, and urged caution to them both; however, neither has yet been so approached to my knowledge. I hope that the Assembly we attended last winter made our circumstances clear to them both. Nary a one of the sons of the leading families asked us to dance; if it were not for the few tradesmen who condescended to do so, we would have sat out all the dances. Neither of my sisters complained when I insisted we leave early.”_

Simmons shook his head, “I hope that you can convince your sister to join us for a month or more when she returns. I believe we can put her in the path of more worthy prospects than a shopkeeper in Meryton.”

“We can try but Lizzy is much needed to help manage Longbourn. I suspect she received several letters from Mr. Carton while travelling.”

“Nonetheless, it would be to her advantage to spend more time with us; and I know you would not repine her company.”

Jane folded her letter and rose, offering her hand to her husband, “I would also not repine your company in our chambers.”

The Simmonses were not seen by the household staff till the next morning at breakfast.

  
**September, 1813 – Sloane Street, London**

“Lizzy, what am I to do with you?”

Elizabeth could hear the touch of exasperation in her elder sister’s laughing tones.

“What shall you want to do with me?” her rejoinder was light-hearted. "I believe your best course is to give me up as a lost cause.”

Jane just shook her head as she settled at the dining table after filling her plate with breakfast edibles. She forbore to shake an admonishing finger at her sister, contenting herself by saying, “I hate to sound like our Mama, but you are not co-operating with my efforts to find you a husband.”

Elizabeth snorted into her tea, “I had begun to suspect that some such plot was behind all these dinners you have lately been hosting during my visit. I had not thought you so social as this.”

Jane looked slightly embarrassed, “Has it been so obvious, then?”

“Mama would be proud of you, Jane. Very proud!”

“Oh dear!”

Elizabeth laughed, “Do not be too vexed, my dear sister. I can honestly say that your endeavours are much less embarrassing than Mama’s ever were.”

“Thank you … I think?”

”Truly, Jane, there is naught to worry about. Your Mr. James is … not uninteresting.”

“He is not my Mr. James.” Jane paused for a moment, “I was rather hoping he might become yours. Do you expect him to call on you?”

“I hardly know. He did seem to have some interest.”

“He did appear to pay you some particular attention last night.”

“Yeeeesss …”

“You appear uncertain, Lizzy.”

“It was difficult to gauge his interest. He was a little … taken aback when I offered opposing opinions.”

“Hmmm. What did you think of him otherwise? He is relatively prosperous and James thinks highly of him.”

“I have nothing but respect for James’ opinion, particularly in regards to his friend’s worthiness in business.”

"I hear a 'but' there, I believe."

Elizabeth gave her sister a slight smile and thought for some moments before responding.

“I will not deny that Mr. James is attractive and well able to support a wife. From the little that James has imparted, he is also a respectable man and honourable in his business dealings. I can hardly believe he would be otherwise in the remainder of his dealings.”

She paused. "He … appears to be sensible and reasonably intelligent. I doubt he could be successful in business if he were otherwise.”

“But?”

“But I do not find myself attracted to him particularly and, several times in our conversations, I found myself displeased with his reactions to something I said.”

Jane looked a little puzzled, “Can you be a little more explicit?”

“One incident arose when we somehow began discussing, of all things, slavery.”

“Slavery? How …?”

“He mentioned that much of his business involved the produce of the West Indies.”

Jane’s eyebrows rose, “Really? I had not known that.”

“Neither had I till then. I subsequently made a observation about the use of slaves. I suppose my expression, my tone of voice, expressed some disapproval, which I undoubtedly feel. Mr. James seemed to infer a criticism on my part, which I certainly had not intended. He spoke quite forcefully on the need to be practical in such matters and seemed to imply that Mr. Wilberforce and his supporters are – how did he express it – ah yes, ‘impractical dreamers’ was his term.” She laughed, “I suppose that is mild compared to what others have called them. To be ‘impractical’ appears to Mr. James to be the worst kind of insult.”

“To be sure.” Jane was thoughtful, “Are there other offenses to be laid to his charge?”

“Jane, I would not have you think me ungenerous. Should Mr. James call, I will receive him with all civility. You may be assured that I am very much aware of my circumstances and am quite determined to take the time to discover the character of a gentleman.” A touch of bitterness entered her voice, “I am, I assure you, quite aware of my past mistakes and will endeavour not to repeat them.”

“Oh Lizzy, I did not mean to …”

“'Tis only the truth, Jane. You should not vex yourself on my account. I will treat Mr. James kindly; and, should he persuade me that I could be content with him, I shall allow him to know as much.”

“And if he does not persuade you?”

“He shall know that also.” Jane did not mistake the determination in her sister’s tones. "However, Jane, I shall, I promise you, be kinder than the last time I discouraged a suitor.” Knowing how her sister had rejected Mr. Darcy’s proposal, Jane could only smile in acknowledgement. Her sister had not changed in essentials, but was slower to judge and less harsh in those judgements.

As it turned out, Mr. James did indeed call on Elizabeth two days later and spent a full half hour in conversation with Jane and her sister. Invitations to dinner followed and, if the Simmonses were exceedingly pleased with the seeming progress in the relationship, that satisfaction was not shared by Elizabeth – a fact which she took care to hide from them until sure in her conclusions.

Mr. James, she soon found, was indeed an intelligent man, well-informed on all matters of business, and related matters. He was pleased to talk of his business and those aspects and people related to it, and did so with ease and fluency. Elizabeth could find no fault with his understanding in that regard. However, he was little pleased to listen to her opinions on such matters, and all too quick to dismiss them should they be in opposition to his own. Books were of little interest, unless they bore, in one way or another, on business and trade. If they were of a more frivolous nature, such as novels or poetry or plays, they could, in his estimation, be ignored altogether – and were. If of a philosophical or historical bent, such treatises were the province of the impractical. Mr. James could be persuaded to attend the theatre or go to an art exhibit, but was rather unsuccessful in hiding his boredom with either entertainment and to discuss either intelligibly was beyond his capabilities. Elizabeth thought she might well have been prepared to overlook some of these shortcomings - if she were convinced that the man was prepared to listen and expand his horizons. However, this seemed increasingly improbable, the more she came to understand him. It was not, she found, that he lacked the intelligence to grow and develop, but rather he saw no purpose to doing so and, from his various reactions, she could not see that he respected her enough to be encouraged by her, nor did he appear to value her enough to find pleasure in those activities which she enjoyed and he did not. In the absence of such basic respect, she could see no future in their relationship.

Communicating as much to her sister was difficult, for she knew Jane wished most strongly to see her favourite sister situated as well and as happily as herself. It took no little talking for Elizabeth to convince her sister of her feelings. Invitations to Mr. James ceased and, if that gentleman was unhappy about the loss of Elizabeth’s company, it was of a short duration as, Jane was later to inform Elizabeth, he married but several months after his last visit. Soon after the visits of Mr. James terminated, Elizabeth’s visit to her sister came to an end and she returned to Longbourn. It was her sister Mary’s opportunity to escape Longbourn for a month or so.

  
**December, 1813 – Pemberley, Derbyshire**

Christmas had come and gone, the family celebrations and gatherings had largely been completed. Georgiana, who had gone to stay with a friend for several days, would return tomorrow. That was a happy prospect. His house was much too lonely without her presence and comfort. He had been invited to a dinner tonight but had chosen to remain at home. The prospect of having one or more eligible young women of the ton paraded for his inspection, and hoped for approval, was more than he could tolerate. For whatever reason, and he could not identify it himself, he was inclined to peruse his journal for the last few months. As seemed to be inevitable, his thoughts revolved around Elizabeth Bennet and her situation.

_“… I have thought much on the matter of Lydia Bennet and whether her ruination would materially attach itself to her elder sister, thus damaging my own sister’s prospects should I marry Elizabeth. If I were to believe the popular romantic novels, such considerations should be discarded altogether. Unfortunately, I am too familiar with the dictates of English society at its highest levels to be so naive. Perhaps it is a reaction to the profligate and dissolute habits of the Prince Regent. It seems to me that the most privileged members of our society can pursue an opulent, extravagant life of indulgence and dissipation not allowed the remainder of society. Royalty are forgiven for almost any transgression. Scandalous activities such as having illegitimate children or conducting extra-marital affairs will incite gossip, but are often overlooked for members of the aristocracy. However, such conduct among my peers can destroy an entire family's social aspirations. The scandal sheets are cruel to anyone who departs from the accepted behaviour, and are not averse to attributing the most nefarious purposes to the most innocent activity for the sole purposes, I believe, of increasing the numbers of readers. A Lord Byron will still receive invitations whereas should I behave so, my sister and I would be mostly shunned, much as the Bennets have been.”_ (September 11, 1813)

He snorted. The scandal sheets would, he knew, never be specific as to his name. He would be a single, rich eligible bachelor from Derbyshire and the reputation of Elizabeth would be tarnished to the degree that it might appear as though she herself was the source and cause of the ruination. Whatever was said would sound twice as bad once into print, and then twice as bad again when fed into the gossip circle.

_“… I am concerned about Georgiana’s entrance into society, a concern which Richard, as her other guardian, shares. This is an event for which we have already begun to make serious plans, the first step of which ha been to consult my aunt, Eileen, Countess Matlock, and her daughter, Lady Janet Harrison, who was some two years my junior. I believe at one time my uncle, the Earl, rather hoped that I might take an interest in Janet, but neither of us was inclined to the other and have been quite content to co-exist as good friends. My aunt has agreed to sponsor Georgiana and I have given over to her the responsibility for introducing her into society next year. They are now beginning their preparations and, if I understand my aunt correctly, my sister will be allowed to attend a few balls and other events this fall, although dancing will not be allowed. My aunt explains, and I must accede to her experience, that Georgiana must become more familiar and comfortable with such settings.”_ (September 23, 1813)

At least his Aunt Catherine would not be attempting to control Georgiana’s coming out; as she had not even performed the feat for his cousin Anne, he had wondered at her initial attempts to inject herself into the process. Fortunately, his Aunt Eileen had brusquely dismissed her ladyship’s pretensions, and more effectively than he could.

_“… I wonder if Richard has spoken to his mother about Elizabeth’s family. I cannot imagine why he would do so, but I am at a loss for any other explanation as to why she would, this afternoon, take me to task about the necessity for avoiding any tinge of scandal. My protestations that I have never done anything to warrant such concern fell on deaf ears. I cannot account for it and, although I quite understand her concerns, she does, to me at least, appear to attach an unwarranted amount of importance to the subject.”_ (October 1, 1813)

He later learned the cause of his aunt’s tirade about scandal. His cousin, Janet Harrison, wrote him that the Viscount had taken another mistress, and had been most blatant in parading her around town. Both of his aunts were seriously displeased, although he failed to understand why Lady Eileen would ring a peal over him about it. When had he ever behaved so? He felt no small degree of annoyance with his cousin, the Viscount. The man was married, with several children. Darcy would readily concede that his cousin’s wife was cast in much the same mold as his Aunt Catherine, and he could hardly blame his cousin for avoiding her company when he could. However, to publicly paraded a mistress in society at events where his wife might be expected to be present, did no credit to the Fitzwilliam name and, by association, the Darcy name.

_"... Georgiana is not altogether happy with having to be introduced into society by my aunt. I thought at first her objections were to having to ‘come out’ but such is not the case. She finds my aunt quite officious, rigid and demanding. I understand her concerns but, when I suggested that the alternative was our Aunt Catherine, she almost fainted. I assured her I was but teasing and, after some persuasion on her part, I agreed to speak to our cousin Janet on the matter. I did so later that evening and she is quite agreeable to assisting Georgiana. I am sure her steady and amiable manner will provide the support and encouragement that Georgiana will require.”_ (October 16, 1813)

Georgiana had been subsequently interviewed by the high priestesses of Almack’s and been deemed suitable to enter their hallowed domain. According to Aunt Eileen, they were extremely impressed by her manners and delighted with her musical ability. That she overcame her shyness to do so, portended well for her first season.

The pleasure he had experienced when he finally stepped through the doors at Pemberley after several months in London was incalculable. Those months had tried his soul and exhausted his patience to a degree that he had not believed possible. Georgiana was almost as relieved as himself. It was no small blessing that they would not have to return to London until March. They both felt the need for those three months to restore their equanimity.

He had not thought it possible to endure another season even if it only lasted a scant six weeks and could not recollect its being such a trial. He experienced a surfeit of teas, dinners, balls, at-homes, and breakfasts to last a lifetime and yet he knew that he and Georgiana must endure it once more in the coming spring. He could scarce remember a single evening spent in the seclusion of his library. Georgiana appeared to have suffered less than himself which, he thought, might be due to the presence of Janet at her side, allowing her to find some pleasure in the doings. He was not so blessed. It was unfortunate that his cousin’s confinement could forestall her active assistance next spring but Georgiana appeared to believe that she could manage it well enough with their aunt’s guidance by then. He knew that they owed the Countess and Janet a great deal for their help, and was gratified that his Aunt Eileen had been much less unbending than either Georgiana or he had expected.

His exposure to London’s first circle was no happier this year than last. He continued to be dismayed at the insipidness, conceit and unkindness so prevalent amongst young women. And, while he admitted that there were some who showed signs of intelligence and kindness, they, for one reason or another, failed to incite any interest on his part to know them better. His aunt had paraded such a flock of young ladies before him as to quite make them indistinguishable one from the other. He feared a certain young woman had quite spoiled him for others of her sex. He compared them all to her and found them wanting.

Darcy’s social reticence, displayed in a tendency to withdraw to the sidelines in social occasions where he was amongst company with whom he was unfamiliar, had provided him many opportunities to observe and assess his peers in their social play. He was too intelligent to fail to understand and appreciate that the society in which he moved was intensely conscious of rank with an attendant incredible double standard of morality. Birth, wealth and titles were the main determinants of social standing and, though some wealthier members of the middle class might possibly marry into the lower ranks of the gentry, such unions would not be completely accepted by the higher levels until several generations passed. While social positions could be altered by income, houses, speech, clothing, or even manners, climbing the social ranks could take generations. The final step into the aristocracy, who did not readily accept into their ranks those they perceived to be of inferior birth, was the highest and most difficult to accomplish.

He could attest to this from within his own family. His uncle, the Earl of Matlock, was all that was genial and amiable and, while quite concerned with proper behaviour, was not particularly predisposed to disfavour those engaged in trade; his wife, the Countess, and her eldest son– the Viscount – were much different and adhered to a strong desire to see the distinction of rank preserved. They were, perhaps, more polite about this belief than Lady Catherine, but no less decided on it. The Viscount’s dissipative lifestyle did not recommend him to Darcy and their acquaintance had never been close. The Earl’s other children, Lady Janet and the Colonel, were more of a mind with him.

Darcy could well remember his aunt’s unhappiness at having to have her daughter interviewed by the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s in order to earn the voucher that would gain her entry into that hallowed spot – exclusion from which would greatly dim his cousin’s marriage prospects. He knew it grated on his aunt’s sensibilities that the Fitzwilliams were relative newcomers to the titled ranks, his uncle being only the third Earl of Matlock. The family had earned a certain status, of course, but the Countess was not amongst the social leaders. In any event, she had to present herself and his cousin to an interview by those Lady Patronesses who, at that time, included Lady Jersey and Lady Castlereagh amongst their number. It was an uncomfortable process and while Darcy doubted that there was any intention to deny a voucher, the need for an interview at all was … unsettling to both his relations.

Georgiana would, of necessity, have to go through the same process. Although the Darcy family, untitled though it may be, was of such distinction as to stand on a level with the Fitzwilliams in their station in society, even a brush of scandal, a suggestion that Georgiana had planned to elope, could bar her from Almack’s, and damage her marriage prospects immeasurably. Darcy’s thoughts were now – due to the departure of Wickham - more directed to the impact that a connection with Miss Elizabeth Bennet might have on those prospects. He feared that such a connection could not be considered until such time as Georgie was safely married. An Almack’s voucher might well be rescinded, should its holder be deemed to be unworthy.


	6. In which Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy have a long overdue talk

**March, 1814 – Longbourn, Hertfordshire**

Could the day get any fouler? The weather outside was far from inviting; the worst that March could offer – cold, and a drizzly rain accompanied by a breeze that sapped whatever warmth was left in the air. Venturing out for a walk was not to be considered. She had come down to breakfast to find that Cook had taken to her bed with a fever and her assistant, less than qualified unless closely supervised, had managed to provide a breakfast that tasted much as it looked – poorly. The only saving grace had been that the tea was hot and plentiful. She could only assume that ruining that beverage was beyond even the capabilities of Cook’s helper.

She had not been overly unhappy, given the quality of the meal, to be disturbed while eating her breakfast by a message from Mr. Carton, Longbourn’s steward. Not unhappy, that is, until she read the message and absorbed its contents. She looked out the window and grimaced. Staying in the house was no longer possible. It seemed that the roof of one of Longbourn’s tenant cottages had partially collapsed and provision had to be made for the family until repairs could be effected. She would inform her father of the news but was under no illusion that he would assume any responsibility in the matter, knowing as he did, that his daughter and steward would act on his behalf. Nonetheless, she felt obligated to advise him of the matter and seek his participation – as she had done on numerous previous occasions with an equal lack of success. He had declined to become involved and was content to allow others to assume his responsibilities since they could discharge them more effectively.

She had approached him in his bookroom where he had already taken his breakfast and found him, as expected, ensconced in his comfortable armchair before the warm fire, reading his latest acquisition and oblivious to his surroundings. His desk was clear of any items – the estate journals and ledgers had all been removed to Lydia’s bed chamber which Elizabeth had converted into a study. Her mother’s initial objections to such a summary dismissal of her favourite daughter’s probable return had not been quiet but, thankfully, were short-lived. Her father’s bookroom was no longer a place of business but a sanctuary, a refuge from the world, in fact if not in name. She had looked at her father and wondered that he had not joined a monastery. She had read that the Trappist monks followed a vow of silence. She decided it would suit her father very well, and then chastised herself, although not too harshly, for such disrespectful thoughts.

Once she had gained his attention, she explained the matter that had arisen, that she proposed to visit with Mr. Carton to oversee the removal of the family, and make such preparations as would be required to repair their home. Having done so, she waited for his response. He looked at her quizzically.

“I am sure that you and Mr. Carton can handle the matter quite well between you, Elizabeth. I see no need for my presence.”

He had not called her ‘Lizzy’ for almost a year; not since he returned from his futile search for Lydia and met with her disappointed gaze. She could only imagine that he felt her unspoken reproaches and succeeding events had only widened the chasm between them as he withdrew further from his family and responsibilities. She felt a sense of anger and disapproval rise within her. The father she had loved would not have acted so. Unfortunately, her countenance must have displayed her thoughts more clearly than she could have wished, for her father said bitterly, “You used to be better at hiding your feelings.”

“I used to have no cause to do so, for the most part.” Elizabeth knew she should have curbed her tongue, but her anger was overpowering her usual self-control.

“I wonder at your living here now.”

“If I did not, who would assume responsibility for Longbourn?”

Her answer was not designed to placate her father and, if she had any expectation that it would provoke a positive response or a change in behaviour, she was to be disappointed. He waved his hand at her dismissively, “Leave me!”

And she did. The question remained, however. Could she leave Longbourn permanently? And, if she did, how was the estate, its tenants, the household, to be managed? Could she undertake such a task, when removed from the premises? She had a sudden thought of Mr. Darcy who was inundated with correspondence on business matters even when travelling and visiting his friends. Apparently it was possible, and she would have to consider it further - when she had the opportunity. For now, she must be about the business of securing accommodation for a tenant family.

The carriage being unavailable – she had chosen this week to have some necessary repairs made – she had no recourse but to use the dogcart; and so, dressed as warmly as possible, with Mary as companion, they made the five mile journey to the Tilton’s cottage. If the damage was somewhat less severe than her imagination had conjured up, it was still impossible for a family to reside in the cottage until the roof was repaired. By the time she and Mary arrived, their clothing had soaked up an inordinate amount of water from the misty air which, in combination with the cold and wind, left them both extremely uncomfortable. It was with no small relief that they entered that portion of the cottage over which a solid roof provided protection.

A brief conversation with Mr. Carton assured her that an immediate remedy was available – a small empty cottage on the estate would serve as a temporary shelter until repairs were complete. This fact was made known to Mr. Tilton who did not appear to take much comfort from it and appeared incensed that he and his family should be so inconvenienced.

“I wrote to the Master six months past ‘bout this roof and nothin’ twere done ‘bout it. It’s not good enough, Mr. Carton. No sir. It’s not good enough. I pays me rent proper, and I should get a proper house, I should. I wrote him, I did, and told him all ‘bout the roof; but did he do anything? No sir! Nothing is what he did. And …”

Mr. Carton finally managed to interrupt, “You wrote the Master? Why should you do such? I deal with these problems.”

“I signed no contract with you, Mr. Carton. Deed I did not! I …”

Elizabeth interrupted quickly as she could sense another flood of complaints brewing. Mr. Tilton had always stood on his rights to contact and deal with her father directly. She was sure that his letter, if seen by her father, had most probably been consigned to the fire. For a certainty, she had not seen it and it was her practice to sort all of her father’s mail before it reached his desk. Somehow this letter had been missed.

“Mr. Tilton,“ she said, her voice as calm as she could make it under the circumstances. “I cannot say what happened to your letter, but I can assure you that it has obviously gone astray, as otherwise this problem would have already been addressed.” She could not admit that her father ignored all estate business and, after a brief pause, continued, “However, I must demand, and I speak for my father on this, that you write directly to Mr. Carton. He …” and she held up her hand to prevent Mr. Tilton from interrupting, “Mr. Carton is best positioned to undertake the work required and will discuss it with my father.”

“It is my right, Miss Bennet, to inform the Master directly. And where is he today? Why has he not come?”

“My father is not well and asks me to come on his behalf. And you may write my father should you wish to do so, Mr. Tilton. I would not presume to stop you; however, my father insists that you write Mr. Carton as well.” She looked at Mr. Tilton steadily until he nodded in reluctant agreement. "Good, we would wish to avoid another situation as we have here, would we not?”

The matter was finally resolved following a few more expostulations on the part of Mr. Tilson on how poorly the matter had been handled and how a good tenant ought to be treated. Preparations for the move to the new cottage, which had started prior to their discussion, resumed with increased vigour. A brief conference with Mr. Carton saw to the hiring of a carpenter to assess the damage and carry out the repairs. Their departure, however, was not to be so easy as Mary, while her sister was engaged with Mr. Tilton and Mr. Carton, had been taken under siege by Mrs. Tilton on the great inconveniences she had suffered, the discomfort that the Bennets had put her through, the smallness of the cottage to which they were to be removed – for how was she to find space for five children in a cottage with only two bedrooms she did not know, the damage that had been done to some of her furniture and who was to pay for their repair and, finally, she hoped that the whole business would not bring on her confinement as she was not to expect the babe for another two months. Mary was quite beyond her capabilities in dealing with these effusions and it required her sister’s support and a further ten minutes to calm the good lady sufficiently to take their leave. The two young women made their way home, becoming more thoroughly soaked by the time they arrived, as the mist had appeared to have thickened. Their appearance coincided with a brief visit by their mother to the parlour as she belatedly had become aware that her calls for a daughter to attend her had only produced Kitty. The absence of her other two daughters and the cause thereof soon convinced her to await their return in that room. She had no sooner viewed their condition than she felt herself overcome with the offence to her sensibilities. Such censure as found expression was directly mainly at her second eldest daughter.

“Aye, there they come,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, looking only at Elizabeth, “appearing as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for me than if I were at York, provided she can have her own way. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to go on behaving in this way, acting as though you are master of this estate, refusing every offer of marriage that comes your way, you will never get a husband at all. And I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead. I shall not be able to keep you, and so I warn you, do not expect a home with me. I have done with you from this very day. If you had done your duty, your sister would not have run off with Wickham, she only did so since she saw the need to marry as quickly as possible. If you had been married to Mr. Collins, she could have lived with you and never seen Wickham. I once told you that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word – indeed you will. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children, and your behaviour now will certainly stop any man from offering for you. No, you may expect only silence from me in the future. Not that I have much pleasure indeed in talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.”

Elizabeth, unwilling to be openly disrespectful towards her mother, listened patiently for some minutes whilst Mary, being ignored by her parent, chose the first opportunity to escape to her bedroom to don dry clothing. Finally, motivated in equal parts by the discomfort of standing in cold, wet garments and having to listen to the reproaches of her mother, Elizabeth turned to follow her sister’s path. Mrs. Bennet took such umbrage at being dismissed so blatantly that she followed her daughter upstairs, chastising her all the while, and only desisting when the bedroom door was firmly closed, and locked, in her face.

Elizabeth spent the afternoon reviewing the ledgers and responding to such correspondence as her father had left unopened. By the time she was called to dinner, her mood was noticeably improved and she felt capable of being civil to more than just her sisters. Unfortunately, the meal itself was not as well prepared as usual and conversation around the table was equally deficient. If the three sisters conversed amiably amongst themselves, their parents contributed little or nothing to the civility of the occasion. True to her word, Mrs. Bennet addressed not one word to Elizabeth, but was content to speak of her to the others at the table in words that bespoke clearly her disapprobation and unhappiness. As neither of Elizabeth’s sisters felt compelled to support their mother’s endeavour, her mother's conversation, such as it was, dominated for most of the meal. Mr. Bennet’s presence was noteworthy for the sourness of his expression and a clear disinclination to speak with anyone. Towards Elizabeth, his manner was particularly cold and he looked at her only to frown. Elizabeth wondered that he had joined them at all and thought to suggest that he might, in future, prefer to take his meal in his bookroom to spare himself their company and they his. That such a recommendation would be unwelcome, she did not doubt.

As she prepared herself for bed that night, she resolved that her days at Longbourn must come to an end. She could not contemplate a life stretching before her that possessed so little satisfaction or joy. No! She must find a new home. Whether that be by marriage or another situation, she cared not. But leave she must.

  
**April, 1814 - Gracechurch Street, London**

Elizabeth sanded her letter and then shook the grains into the small sand box on her desk, tapping it once or twice to shake loose those few grains that were attempting to adhere to the ink. She hoped that her letter was not tinged with that slight touch of envy she felt for her sister’s good fortune. A husband that she cared for deeply, a comfortable establishment and now, a healthy daughter. She could admit of her envy to herself, but to have others discern it was more than she could bear. She read her letter once more.

_Gracechurch Street, London_   
_April 17, 1814_

_Dear Charlotte,_

_As ever, I delight to hear from you and take no little pleasure in your recounting of the deeds of your son. I can tell your pleasure in him from the words you write and I must stand – or rather sit at the moment – in awe of your being a mother. I have every confidence in your ability to raise him well. Your brothers were never spared your attentions and they survived relatively intact, did they not? Now, if you can only avoid heeding Lady Catherine’s advice. I wonder at a woman, who has not raised a son, being so free to provide direction as to the proper method of doing so. Of course, we all know that she would be a great proficient at any task she set herself to, should she have ever troubled herself to have undertaken it. Unfortunately for the world, she has never set herself to the task of being a sensible woman; however, I will force myself to be sensitive to your feelings and shall disparage your husband’s patroness no more._

_I am writing from my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner’s home on Gracechurch Street, having returned from assisting Jane during her confinement. I return to Longbourn in a fortnight and hope to avail myself of a theatre play before I do so. I have toyed with your patience long enough. I am now an aunt! Jane gave birth to the most beautiful daughter last night and I apparently am to be singularly honoured. Not only have I been asked to stand as one of her godmothers, but she will bear the name of Elizabeth Madeline Simmons. It was, according to the midwife, a relatively easy confinement, although you could not know it from my experience. Jane’s pains began shortly before luncheon and the babe arrived by eight that evening._

_My own duties were rather simple. Despite being unmarried, I was permitted in the birthing room; I fear my mother believes I will never marry and, therefore, unlikely to be harmed by the experience. Much as Jane might have wished otherwise – and she is much too good to say so – our mother’s presence could not be prevented. She insisted on being present at the birth of her first grandchild. My task, it became obvious, was to distract her sufficiently as to allow the midwife to perform her duties. I must have performed in an acceptable manner – although I did have, and required, my Aunt Gardiner’s assistance – since mother and child are both well and my mother is alive and not overly unhappy – or, at least, not more than is her usual wont._

_My aunt is already making plans for this summer and is proposing that I join her, uncle and their two eldest children on a foray into Wiltshire. I am quite looking forward to the adventure. These journeys with my aunt and uncle are quite the high point of my year. I can still remember our travels in Derbyshire and would not be reluctant to return there should an opportunity present itself. I always regretted that a lack of time prevented us visiting The Lakes and I assure you that Lydia’s misfortunes have not damaged my fond memories of Derbyshire. I do not wish for much these days, but to have sufficient means to travel and see parts of our delightful country is one I hold dear._

_I have not spoken of Longbourn and, as I am sure you realize, for good reason. Jane’s marriage has apparently rehabilitated my family’s reputation slightly in the neighbourhood. However, my mother’s spirits while, for a short time, raised at the happy news, have since dropped so low as to not allow her to derive any pleasure from it. I suspect that Jane's refusal to visit Longbourn and Papa's refusal to allow her to visit London until Jane’s confinement - although Jane has yet to invite her - has much to do with her low spirits. I also remain her least favoured daughter – Lydia’s behaviour apparently has not damaged her in my mother’s eyes – and we have tended to avoid each other’s company. I am sure she greets my stays with the Gardiners and Jane with some relief. I know I do. My father is as he ever was. My days lately have been quite taken with duties associated with Longbourn. I meet with our steward almost daily – I fear my father’s interest in the estate has declined greatly and it was never a pressing concern of his. I can, however, assure you that his health remains good. If you would be so kind as to share that confidence with my cousin, I would be extremely gratified. I am confident of his pleasure at receiving such happy news._

_Kitty, Mary and I have, perforce, become much closer. Mary has taken on the role of looking after my father and mother and I am quite content to leave much of the household duties to her charge. Kitty and I busy ourselves with the estate and Kitty has shown a surprising aptitude for the accounts and has quite taken on the tedious business of reconciling the expenditures and incomes of Longbourn. If there is a virtue to be found in this sad business, it is that our expenditures have declined appreciably and some additional monies are being aside to care for us when our father passes on. I can hope it will be many years before such an unhappy event and, should that be the case, we can expect to be reasonably comfortable._

_I remain your oldest and most affectionate friend,_   
_Elizabeth B._

With a sigh she folded and sealed it. Rising, she carried it downstairs to place with the rest of the post and, gathering her composure, joined her mother and aunt in the parlour. Her mother would return to Longbourn tomorrow and Elizabeth in a fortnight. She could take comfort that her stay there would be of short duration, as she was to return to London to spend part of the season with her aunt and uncle. They still had hopes of finding her a husband and, though she had tired of the process and become quite discouraged at its lack of success, she would not spurn their efforts on her behalf.

   
 **Late May, 1814 - Rosings Park, Kent**

Like so many of Darcy’s evenings in the past two years, this one was spent in solitude. Georgiana, under the guidance of Countess Matlock, was successfully completing her first season. He had participated in many of the events, dancing with her and a few others, although his services as a dance partner had declined as the season progressed and his sister’s circle of admirers had expanded. That none had captured her interest was a relief to him, for the thought that she might forsake his company on a permanent basis was not one that he considered happily. As a consequence, he found that he was able to remove himself, with an easy conscience, from those social activities which afforded him little pleasure. That he himself remained a source of interest to those young women seeking a husband had not escaped his notice and their pursuit afforded him little pleasure. If he had any consolation, it was that some who had been most persistent, including Caroline Bingley, had finally relinquished their hopes of attaching him. Caroline, for instance, was now actively harrying a Baron, and Darcy confessed to himself alone that his feelings contained an equal measure of gratitude and pity for that gentleman.

His Aunt Catherine had, for the first time in almost ten years, travelled to London in support of Georgiana to take part in the season. That Georgiana had borne her officiousness with considerable grace was a testament to her kindly nature. Darcy was not sure that he could have done so in her place. It was, in part, to give his sister relief from their aunt’s attentions that Darcy had travelled back with Lady Catherine to Rosings. He had made his annual visit that Easter but was amenable to returning - a circumstance that puzzled Colonel Fitzwilliam greatly, as he knew his cousin found little pleasure in their aunt’s company. All would be made clear.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had accompanied him on each trip and both men had struggled to hide their dismay at their cousin Anne’s condition. Her health had worsened over the past few years to such a degree that it should have been obvious, to even the blindest of observers, that marriage for her, was not a possibility. And yet, Lady Catherine seemed oblivious to that reality, and her allusions to a possible match with Darcy were as frequent as ever. Darcy finally resolved to speak to Anne without her mother’s knowledge. The problem he faced was that he had assiduously avoided being alone with his cousin; not because he feared an attempt from her to compromise him, but that such a meeting, if observed by his aunt, would be deliberately misconstrued by her and not to his advantage. To avoid making a proposal was one thing, refuting that an offer had been - or should be - made, quite another. The Colonel, however, was free to meet and talk with Anne without hindrance. Lady Catherine had no interest in attaching her daughter to a second son who, even if his father was an earl, possessed few prospects. The Colonel had admitted, to Darcy only, that freedom from his aunt’s aspirations was a relief. He liked his cousin well enough, but her company was not such as to make attending her a source of much pleasure. Her health, and their aunt’s over-protectiveness, had left Anne endowed with little knowledge, no accomplishments, and a great deficiency of conversation. If her mother could not wed her to Darcy, she was unlikely to marry at all, unless it was to a man who had much care for her fortune and none for her.

To make a meeting possible, Colonel Fitzwilliam arranged to walk outside with Anne, arriving at a private location where Darcy awaited them. Anne was so enfeebled that even the short distance required for this walk had obviously tired her and she was quite willing to rest for some time before returning inside. The Colonel wandered off a short distance to afford them a semblance of privacy, although within hearing distance, as Darcy wished to have a witness to the meeting. Anne looked up at her cousin and, to his surprise, initiated the conversation.

“Richard indicated that you wished to speak with me, Cousin.”

“Yes. Yes, I did, Anne.”

A silence lasted for several minutes, as Darcy considered and discarded several possible openings.

“It seems to me, William, that you are having trouble finding the proper words. I find I have little patience with being overly circumspect these days. If you have something you wish to say, please just say it.”

“Your mother is as resolved as ever about a possible match between us, Anne.”

"And this surprises you?”

“I confess it does. I cannot believe that …”

Anne grimaced, “That she cannot or will not see that my health is poorer every year?” There was a touch of bitterness in her voice as she continued, “But why should this bother you now, Cousin? You have managed to ignore her wishes for five years or more. What has changed?”

Darcy was slightly surprised at the asperity in her voice, “Would you … were you expecting my proposal, Anne? I know we never talked of it, but I thought we were of a like mind in this.”

“We were, we are, William. Forgive my words. Your deliberate … obliviousness to my mother’s wishes has served us both well. I only wonder at why the matter is raised now?”

Darcy shook his head. "I cannot answer that to my satisfaction, Anne. I simply find myself reluctant to continue the charade. I think we do your mother no favours by allowing it to continue further, although I can give no reason for this opinion. It just seems wrong.”

“It matters no longer to me, William. I have no wish to marry. Truthfully, I see no point. I cannot bear a child, manage an estate, and live anything approaching a normal life.” Her eyes had been fixed on the ground in front of her as she spoke and when she finally raised them to look at her cousin; he could see resignation and weariness in her features.

"What will you do?”, she asked.

Darcy answered slowly, “If you have no objection – and I will not act against your wishes on this – I will inform your mother that I have no intentions of ever offering for you.”

Anne sat in a contemplative silence for several minutes before rousing herself to respond, “Do as you will. I will not object.”

Standing, she accepted his offered arm for support and they began a slow return to Rosings. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been waiting some distance away, quickly joined them, secured his cousin’s other arm to provide her additional support, and also took on the burden of polite conversation for the duration of the walk. It was a rather heavy burden since neither Darcy nor Anne was much inclined to conversation. Once Anne was safely sequestered in her chambers, the two gentlemen retired to the library where Darcy sketched his intentions. After some discussion, he agreed to postpone the fateful meeting with his aunt until the evening before their departure.

That meeting took place as planned. The evening itself had been placid; the company of the Collinses was sufficient to allow his aunt to express her opinions to a willing audience, even if comprised of Mr. Collins only. Darcy had spoken briefly to Mrs. Collins, and his cautious inquiries about the Bennets had, to his regret, provided little new information of their circumstances. Their reception in the neighbourhood had improved slightly, but remained poor, and, being tied to Longbourn, they had no recourse but to suffer the censure. Escape to a friendlier neighbourhood was apparently not a possibility as Mr. Bennet was disinclined to suffer the loss of privacy afforded by his book room.

Once the Collinses had departed via her ladyship’s carriage, Anne retired to her rooms and Lady Catherine was about to do the same when Darcy requested to talk with her privately. His aunt made no attempt to hide her surprise and, within a few moments, appeared greatly pleased at the request and granted it immediately. Neither Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam had a problem discerning that she expected Darcy to offer for Anne. What other reason could her nephew have to seek a private conference? The Colonel discretely took his leave, although not before giving Darcy an encouraging smile and wink.

Darcy waited till the door was firmly closed behind Fitzwilliam before beginning. "Aunt Catherine, I have asked for this interview, although not for the reason I believe you are anticipating.”

Lady Catherine was about to respond before she realized the significance of her nephew’s words. Disappointment was chased from her features by puzzlement as she asked, “What do you mean, nephew? Of what then, are we to speak?”

“Aunt, you have continued to allude to a marriage between myself and Anne. You must realize surely that, even if I were inclined to such a match, which I am not, it is an impossibility. Surely you can see that?”

The confusion on Lady Catherine’s visage was quickly replaced by anger as she retorted, “Impossible? I do not see this! How can you say such? From your infancy you have been meant for each other. It was the favourite wish of your mother and me. You are destined for Anne.”

“Aunt, have you not observed Anne’s condition? She is by no means capable of filling the duties of a wife, let alone those required by the mistress of an estate such as Pemberley.”

“Nonsense, I tell you! Nonsense!”

“Aunt, I …”

Lady Catherine interrupted, “Fitzwilliam, I will hear no more. You and Anne will marry.”

“Aunt, much as it grieves me to disappoint you, I must do so. I have never intended to offer for Anne. Had I chosen, or been willing, to do so, surely you realize that I would have done so before now.”

Lady Catherine’s anger had not abated, and indeed she was almost sputtering as she retorted, “But Anne is the most suitable bride you could find. You are formed for each other. You are descended on the maternal side from the same noble line; and, on the father’s, from respectable, honourable and ancient, though untitled, families. The fortune on both sides is splendid. You are destined for each other by the voice of every member of your respective houses.”

“All of that matters not, aunt. I am by neither honour nor inclination bound to my cousin. We will not wed. I would have you cease these representations.”

“You intend to marry another, then! To ignore all claims to duty and responsibility to your family.”

“I have no intentions to marry anyone, Aunt. At least, not at this time. I court no one, nor have I paid any attentions to another young lady.”

He could see his aunt trying to marshal more arguments or, most likely, as was her wont, to repeat those already presented in the hope, or expectation, that she could, by force of will and dint of repetition, bend him to her desires. He spoke before she could do so.

“Enough Aunt. Enough! I am my own master on this matter and I will not be persuaded otherwise. You would do well to pay attention to your daughter; for I fear that her health grows more precarious every year. On this, Richard is in agreement with me.”

“What? What do mean? Anne is as healthy as ever she was!”

“No, Aunt. She is weaker and more frail this year than last. I fear for her life. Can you not see this? I have spoken with her and she knows it as well.”

Lady Catherine clamped her lips tight and Darcy could see that such news was neither welcomed nor accepted. With a shake of his head and a few last words, he took his leave of her.

He and his cousin dined alone at breakfast the next morning, a circumstance Darcy could only interpret as a mark of his aunt’s displeasure since she had always attended their departure in the past. As it turned out, this was his last visit to Rosings for a few years. While the Colonel continued to visit at Easter, Darcy did not.

  
**Late May, 1814 - Gracechurch Street, London**

The disapprobation which the Bennet family faced following Lydia’s ruin had lessened only slightly during the past year. Invitations to the Bennets were issued a little more often, and those extended by the family, sometimes accepted. Their only callers were Mrs. Philips and, occasionally, Lady Lucas whose sole purpose seemed to be to ensure that Mrs. Bennet not remain unaware that Mrs. Collins’ situation with their cousin, Mr. Collins, was all that it should be. That Mrs. Collins had given birth to a son, who might one day inherit Longbourn, was of such importance as to require Lady Lucas to remind her friend, Mrs. Bennet, on every visit, for surely that lady would wish to be assured that the future heir was healthy and growing. If their plight had not been so poor, Elizabeth could almost have found amusement in her mother’s reactions to such news; however, it was only with the greatest difficulty that she refrained from harsh rejoinders to Lady Lucas’ efforts – a restraint exercised only because Charlotte Collins remained Elizabeth’s staunch friend. Indeed, the one valuable service provided by Lady Lucas was to take on the office of post to allow Charlotte to exchange letters with her. Mr. Collins had - at the instigation of Lady Catherine, Elizabeth was sure - forbidden any direct communication between Elizabeth and his wife. Lady Lucas was only reluctantly agreeable to facilitating the letter exchange, and Elizabeth would not endanger her involvement. No, Lady Lucas’ gloating must be endured.

Charlotte's last letter was most interesting.

“… My husband is most perturbed on Lady Catherine’s behalf. It appears that Lady Catherine and her nephew, Mr. Darcy, had a most serious disagreement on his last visit. Mr. Collins does not have all the particulars but will say only that Mr. Darcy is failing in his duty to his family and that Miss de Bourgh is being treated most unkindly. My husband is quite distressed on her behalf and is worried that she might never marry if Mr. Darcy will not do so. I can only assume that Mr. Darcy has rejected any attempts by her ladyship to promote a marriage with her daughter which, given the health of Miss de Bourgh, seems quite a sensible decision on the part of Mr. Darcy.

“He, Mr. Darcy, inquired about your family and his unhappiness at your family’s situation was clear to me. I previously had informed him of Jane’s marriage and he was pleased to learn that she and her husband had a daughter. His expression when I informed him that she had been named after you was … inexplicable, I believe, is the most appropriate word. I send to Jane, via you, his congratulations. I did mention, did I not, that he quite took my husband to task for suggesting that he would move quickly, at her ladyship’s direction, to remove you all from Longbourn following your father’s passing. I quite applaud Mr. Darcy’s efforts and will certainly advise my husband to follow it. If we are fortunate, that unhappy event will not take place for many years. I am quite content with my current situation, I assure you …”

Elizabeth could only read such news about Mr. Darcy with regret. She could not expect him to direct his attentions to her now. Her rejection of his proposal, the vehemence and anger which accompanied it, and the subsequent ruin of her reputation by Lydia’s actions, precluded any possible attachment. Her self-reproaches now were simply that she had not been kinder in her refusal, and that she had so badly misjudged a man that she might very well have liked a great deal if she had allowed herself to know him. She had retained his letter and still, on occasion, had cause to read it. For what purpose she knew not, for it simply reaffirmed how foolish and blind she had been.


	7. In which Miss Bennet makes a new acquaintance

**Early June, 1814 - Near Malmesbury, Wiltshire**

The weather had co-operated most wonderfully. Their travel through Wiltshire had been so comfortable, as to almost make each hour a pleasure. Their carriage could be opened and the beauties of the countryside availed of without hindrance. The temptation to pause on their route to enjoy a particular vista, or to walk through a charming hamlet, was never resisted. Salisbury and Stonehenge claimed a portion of their time and admiration, but the prospect of other enjoyments drove them on. For the first time, the two eldest Gardiner children had been allowed to accompany their parents; their excitement and enthusiasm added to the pleasure of the adults and, if there was less room to be found inside the carriage, there was more than a sufficiency of pleasure to make the small discomfort quite bearable.

So it was until they reached the _____ Inn which abutted the Tetbury Avon River, although Mr. Gardiner was to learn at the inn that it was known locally as the Ingleburn. Of more moment to her uncle was the information imparted as to the excellence of the fishing there, and this information was quite enough to create a wish, on his part, to enjoy the sport. To his wife he did apply, and she, being quite willing to allow him this pleasure, readily consented to his spending the following day in his favourite sport.

And thus, the next morning Mr. Gardiner departed, armed with the essential equipment, to pursue his hapless quarry and with the knowledge, imparted by the innkeeper, of the best locations in which the objects of his affection could be found. In his absence, and in possession of the carriage, the ladies and children chose to wander around the surrounds and passed no few hours admiring the scenery and touring one of the more notable homes in Malmesbury to discover for themselves their attractions. Elizabeth found that she quite loved the places they visited and said as much to her aunt.

“I could settle here very happily, I think. It reminds me of Meryton a little, but without the unhappiness that I now associate with it.” The last part was murmured to her aunt who nodded sympathetically and responded quietly so as to ensure her children, whose attention appeared to be fixed on a flock of sheep, did not hear.

“I fear that you will never feel the same about your home, Lizzy.”

“No, I cannot feel comfortable with how my family has been treated. That we should be dealt with so at the hands of those we have always considered our friends has been painful. I am most eager to leave when the opportunity is presented and regret returning, when that is necessary. As well, I find Longbourn itself is no longer as welcoming as it was.”

Mrs. Gardiner nodded. She needed no explanation as to why her niece should find her home so unwelcoming. She deplored the behaviour of her brother and his wife, but neither her remonstrances nor those of her husband had made a difference.

"We must find you a husband then, Lizzy!”

“Am I so difficult to please, Aunt? Surely all I require is a gentleman with arms and legs enough and a mind that does not bore or disgust me. As long as he has a modest competence to support me and any children, I believe I would be quite content.” She laughed, “I do not require, or expect to achieve, Jane’s happiness and situation. It is only fitting that she be so blessed.”

“I believe you rate yourself too poorly, Lizzy. I am determined to find a husband worthy of my favourite niece.”

“I fear that you will be sorely disappointed, Aunt. I have come to believe that no gentleman of worth will wish to wed one such as me.”

Her aunt shook her head and forbore to argue the point with her niece. She was resolved, however, to have Elizabeth spend more time in London with her and with her sister, and to organize more opportunities for her to meet suitable gentlemen. If her niece was determined to leave Longbourn and find a husband, she was sure that one who met Elizabeth’s wishes would be discovered.

They had, by this time, returned to the inn. Appreciating the fact that a luncheon would soon be required, Mrs. Gardiner had the happy thought of a picnic. Believing herself to know where her husband had ventured, she planned for them to travel there and share the repast with him; for assuredly he must be hungry by this time. This plan was quickly agreed to by the others and, almost as quickly, put in place. A half hour found them travelling in the direction Mr. Gardiner had walked that morning and a quarter hour was sufficient to find him. To their surprise, he was not alone, nor was he fishing. Instead, he appeared most comfortably sitting with his back against a small tree and conversing with a gentleman. Several jars of the local ale appear to have been consumed and Mrs. Gardiner was heard by Elizabeth to wonder how much fishing her husband had accomplished that morning.

So agreeably wrapped in conversation were the two gentlemen, they did not appear to notice the approaching carriage and thus Mrs. Gardiner, with the assistance of their driver, came upon her husband quite by surprise.

“I wonder, Mr. Gardiner, how successful your fishing has been to find you so reposing. Have you spent the morning thus?”

Mr. Gardiner jumped at being so startled, but his pleasure at her appearance could not be feigned and, if his expression of it was aided by the consumption of a jar - or two - of ale, Mrs. Gardiner was not of a mind to complain.

“Ah, Madeline, I am pleased to see you, my dear. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Waring who finds equal enjoyment in fishing. He has been sharing some of his stories about his endeavours in the sport. Mr. Waring, my wife, Madeline Gardiner.”

Elizabeth, who had by this time arrived at her aunt’s side, chuckled, “It would appear, Uncle, that you have been sharing more than stories. That ale must have been uncommonly good to draw you away from the sport.”

Mr. Gardiner laughed good-naturedly, “Mr. Waring, allow me to introduce you to my most impertinent niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, Mr. Waring, who is, by his own account at least, a most superior fisherman.”

Mr. Waring was a moderately handsome gentleman, somewhat taller than her uncle, well-built with dark hair showing tinges of grey. He appeared to be of an age with her uncle – about forty years – and looked to be an active sort of man. His manner, when he greeted them, was reserved and Elizabeth thought she detected that shyness lay behind it rather than any dislike of the company.

He greeted Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth with perfect composure, was pleased to be introduced to the Gardiner children, and accepted with perfect civility an invitation to join them in their picnic – Elizabeth had to assume that the invitation was received with pleasure since his face did not display any marked signs that this was so. For, as Mrs. Gardiner assured him, “We have brought enough for twice our number; the addition of one to our party can only add to its enjoyment.”

Elizabeth, with the intent of putting him at his ease, inquired of her uncle how they came to be acquainted. What ensued led to much laughter by them all, as Mr. Gardiner’s explanation was provided.

“'Twas all my fault, Lizzy. Mr. Waring and I were fishing on opposite sides of a small copse, each of us ignorant of the other. I allowed my line to entangle with Mr. Waring’s to the dismay of us both.”

Here Mr. Waring interjected, “My dismay, I assure you, was only that instead of a remarkably large fish at the end of my line, I found another fisherman. My disappointment was quite severe.” Here he hesitated before resuming, “However, inasmuch as it has brought me into his family’s company, I can have no cause to repine.”

Inquiries by Elizabeth to the success of their fishing endeavours led to the gentlemen retrieving their fish boxes to display the fruits of their efforts which were loudly and enthusiastically praised by the rest of the company. Neither Mr. Waring nor Mr. Gardiner was inclined to allow the ladies and the children to separate after the picnic was over. Mr. Gardiner was interested in teaching his son the rudiments of fishing and Mr. Waring, in furthering, if possible, an acquaintance with the charming young niece of his new friend. Elizabeth had been so pleased with the day’s activities and to observe the evident enjoyment that her uncle was experiencing with his favourite sport, that her liveliness and teasingly happy manners were on full, albeit unconscious, display. If she was unaware of the gentleman’s attraction, her aunt was not and set out to determine more about him.

“From what little my husband has mentioned, it seems that you are quite familiar with the … Ingleburn, I believe it is called? Do you fish here often, Mr. Waring?”

“Indeed, I do, Madam. As often as I can find time for it. I am fortunate that my situation allows me to enjoy the sport with greater frequency than is allowed most.”

“Yes, my husband’s one regret with his business is that it requires him to live in London and affords little time for this pleasure.”

Elizabeth asked, “You must live close by then, Mr. Waring?”

He nodded, “I do indeed, Miss Bennet. My estate is but a mile or so distant. Easy walking distance and I take advantage of it whenever I can.”

Elizabeth smiled, “You are doubly blessed then, sir. To live in the country and to have ready access to your favourite sport …” she shook her head again, “Doubly blessed, indeed!”

“I had not thought of it so, Miss Bennet, although I believe you are correct.” He hesitated, wondering if his questions would be taken amiss, as presumptuous, perhaps. He ventured, “Do you live in London, with your aunt and uncle then, Miss Bennet?”

“No, although I love to visit them as often as may be. My home is in Hertfordshire. My father has an estate there – Longbourn.”

Mrs. Gardiner thought to contribute at this point, “Lizzy favours us with her company every summer as we travel to various parts of the kingdom. We spent one summer in Derbyshire and last summer we visited Cornwall for six weeks.”

“Did you enjoy the sea-bathing at St. Ives? It is not an overly popular spot I believe, but I was told they have a few machines there."

Elizabeth grinned, “I did, very much so, in fact. I could not, however, convince my aunt to join me.”

Mrs. Gardiner shuddered theatrically, “To immerse oneself in cold water, I think not, my dear. I shall find my pleasures elsewhere.”

Mr. Waring laughed softly, “I am afraid I am of Mrs. Gardiner’s persuasion now, although I admit to enjoying the waters when I was younger.”

Elizabeth looked at him. He did not appear to be that old to her or, at least, the difference in their ages did not appear to be of significance. What conversation they had shared marked him as having good understanding and intelligence. She wondered if he spent much time in London and cautiously asked, “With so many comforts here, I would think that you visit town but infrequently?”

“You are correct, Miss Bennet. I suppose I spend but a fortnight a year in London.”

“Oh! Do you not find enjoyment in the theatre and exhibits that can be found there?”

“They are the only reason I travel to Town, Miss Bennet. But a single gentleman like myself, with no family and few acquaintances in the area, can find little to do.”

The revelation that he was unattached was not missed by either lady and Mrs. Gardiner offered, “Well, I do hope that you will call on us when next you visit London. We would be delighted with your company.” Not wanting to separate from the gentleman as yet, she continued, “I was hoping that you might dine with us this evening.”

Mr. Waring was caught quite by surprise at this offer. A quick glance at Elizabeth suggested that the idea met with no discernible objections and his acceptance of the offer was given. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Gardiner returned and the two gentlemen resumed their efforts to deplete the fish population while the two ladies and the children contented themselves by walking the banks of the river. Neither lady was prepared to discuss Mr. Waring. Indeed, there was little to discuss and Elizabeth took comfort in knowing that, should her aunt harbour any match-making thoughts, they would be discrete and not of a type to embarrass either her or Mr. Waring. She did not delude herself. The gentleman, she thought, had shown some interest in her and, apart from the difference in their ages which she would not allow to be significant, in his character and situation he might well satisfy her wishes for a husband. The need to be wed and settled was pressing upon her and she was beginning to feel it most keenly. If Mr. Waring was of a mind to pay his addresses to her, she would encourage him as best she could within the bounds of proper decorum. He was not unhandsome, he appeared to be of an amiable disposition, his love for country living could not but recommend him to her since, unlike her sister, she had no wish to live in London, and he gave some signs of intelligence – her uncle, after all, had found his company satisfactory enough to maintain the acquaintance which he need not have done. If they were to dine together this evening, she would have an opportunity to further sketch his character. She hoped that he would not disappoint.

Mr. Waring was required to separate from them for a time to refresh himself and don proper attire. He rejoined them about an hour before they were to eat, was greeted warmly by all upon his appearance, and shortly thereafter found himself discussing the relative merits of Wiltshire over Hertfordshire which he had visited some years previous. Into this discussion, Mrs. Gardiner was not unwilling to defend the interests of Derbyshire as the most beautiful part of England and, as Elizabeth could not disagree that Derbyshire was more beautiful than Hertfordshire, she was perforce required to retire from defending her home county and join in the debate of the comparative merits of Wiltshire and Derbyshire. She endeavoured to do her part faithfully, changing her stance at least three times in the course of the discussion to argue for one county or the other as she felt the need. Finally, her aunt exclaimed, “Lizzy, what are you about? I am quite confused as to your preferences. Just when I think you have begun to support me against Mr. Waring’s assertions, I find you arguing in his defence. You are a most unfaithful ally.” Mrs. Gardiner shook her finger at Elizabeth in mock reproof.

Mr. Waring began to laugh, “Indeed, she is! I can see that the love of the debate has quite overset the topic being debated. Miss Bennet finds her enjoyment in teasing us all.”

Elizabeth blushed slightly, suppressing her mirth as much as possible, “It is the truth. My dear father plagued me for years with such a tactic until I realized he derived amusement from my frustration. It did, however, have the virtue of teaching me to see the different sides of an argument.”

“And, I assume,” said Mr. Waring, “how best to dispatch a point of view or position with which you disagree strongly.”

Elizabeth nodded. Mr. Gardiner took the opportunity to begin a discussion of their trip to Cornwall which lasted until they were called to supper. The meal was as good as could be expected under the circumstances and the fact that the Gardiners had secured a private room allowed the company to relax. Good company and intelligent conversation more than offset any deficiencies in the supper itself, and Elizabeth was pleased to find that Mr. Waring was as intelligent and knowledgeable as he first appeared. The presence of children at the table did not inhibit the conversation unduly and it flowed easily to cover theatre, books, travel, and - for the brief time allowed by Mrs. Gardiner – politics. Mr. Waring spoke quietly and with considerable knowledge on most topics. Where his information was lacking, he was not ashamed to admit of his ignorance and listen to others more informed. Elizabeth found herself again professing a contrary view just to ascertain his reaction. That he disagreed with her was clear but that he respected her opinion and the right to express it became no less clear.

The ease the four adults found in their companions caused them to linger over their meal and, once Mrs. Gardiner had seen the children to their rooms to sleep, a desire to continue was easily gratified as they moved to the sitting room. It was with some regret that the lateness of the hour at last required Mr. Waring’s departure; however, before taking his leave, he issued an invitation to visit his estate – Oaksley – the next afternoon and stay to dine with him that evening, which was accepted with alacrity. That the gentleman’s interest in her niece had been discerned clearly now by Mrs. Gardiner, and that information, later conveyed in private to her husband, would have induced a willingness on their part to further the acquaintance, even if they had been less well disposed to the man himself. To identify their niece’s feelings on the matter was more difficult. Elizabeth had always been guarded in displaying her interests and her lively nature had frequently allowed her to mask a dislike of particular individuals. In this instance, they had seen nothing but an inclination to enjoy the gentleman’s company. And that would do quite well for the moment.

The next day found them travelling to Mr. Waring’s estate after luncheon. In less than a half hour, their coach was drawing up to the entrance of Oaksley Manor, a fine house built of light coloured stone. In size it appeared to be slightly larger than Longbourn, but considerably older, although one wing did appear to have been constructed more recently. The surrounding grounds gave it a most pleasing appearance with gardens that, if sculpted by human hands, had been allowed to retain much of their natural appearance. Accepting Mr. Waring’s hand as she stepped down from the coach, Elizabeth found herself drifting away from the others, who were being greeted by Mr. Waring, to view more closely the park in which the manor house was situated. It was a pleasing prospect and one she wished she could explore.

Mr. Waring had noticed Elizabeth’s interest and, wishing to gratify it, offered to conduct a tour of the park’s grounds.

“Miss Bennet, I remember that you expressed a preference for walking the paths and trails that abound near your home. Perhaps I might be allowed to show you and your relations a small part of the beauties of Oaksley?”

Elizabeth looked at her aunt who gave a slight nod and replied, “We would be delighted, Mr. Waring.”

“The Park is three miles round. We might venture it, if it is not too far.” Mr. Waring looked with some uncertainty at Mrs. Gardiner who gave a slight smile and assured him that, while she could not equal her niece’s proficiency as a walker, a distance of three miles was not beyond her capabilities.

Mr. Waring accepted Mrs. Gardiner’s assurances with pleasure and, offering Elizabeth and the Gardiners’ daughter an arm each, led the way followed closely by the Gardiners and their son. It took but ten minutes for the latter to grow impatient with the pace being set by his elders and scamper ahead to explore the grounds more closely. Within five minutes, he was joined by his sister and their happy chatter drifted back to the others trailing behind.

Mr. Waring proved himself an excellent guide, taking the time to remark on the various plants that could be seen, answering questions from them all, and leading them to several points from which attractive vistas could be seen. Nothing seemed too small for his attention, and yet it was knowledge based on an obvious love for, and pride in, his estate. While he addressed the questions of them all, Elizabeth could not help but feel he was displaying his estate to her in particular. It seemed that he wished her to appreciate it and she wondered at his object. Their acquaintance was so brief that she could hardly believe him to have formed an attachment so soon - interest possibly, but an attachment? With more calmness of mind than she thought possible, such conjectures were put aside for the moment and she strove to focus on her present situation.

Their pace was so leisurely, and the stoppages to admire some particular aspect of the park so frequent, that two hours had passed before they returned. At length, however, the manor house was before them and the heat of the day such as to make everyone wish for refreshments. A terrace had been constructed towards the back of the house which overlooked a charming prospect of rolling hills dotted with livestock, groups of trees and the scattered dwellings. Cool drinks were greeted with considerable enthusiasm and a desire to relax and simply enjoy their ease, found common cause with all but the children who thus were placed in the care of Mr. Waring’s groom and taken to the stables. The prospect of riding a small horse had captured Master Gardiner’s interest; his sister was also interested, although whether she could be induced to actually ride a horse was uncertain.

Their absence allowed the Gardiners, Elizabeth and Mr. Waring to recapture the easy conversation they had enjoyed the evening before. Elizabeth could not remember when she had experienced such pleasure in simple discourse. While she was aware of her own abilities in this area and knew her aunt and uncle to be intelligent and amiable conversants, it was Mr. Waring who had surprised her. Her initial impression of his reticence had not been disproven. From what she could detect, he was not one inclined to converse pointlessly. On topics in which he had an interest, his opinions and comments were tendered openly, if succinctly.

They had been talking quite freely for almost an hour before she realized that he had, most skillfully, extracted much more information about her and her situation than she realized. While she had not disclosed the disgrace her family shared, her unhappiness with her home could not have escaped his notice. It had been inadvertently done and she hoped it would not reflect poorly on her. She tried to remember how much she might have revealed and took some small comfort that her unhappiness may have been disclosed more by her tone of voice and expression than by any specific comment.

Yet it seemed not to bother Mr. Waring at all, and she observed no obvious reluctance on his part to continue talking to her. She decided to put her worries aside and concentrate on avoiding further disclosures – at least until she knew him better. To this end, she began to address herself to the task of learning more about Mr. Waring himself; and while she could hardly inquire directly about his family, she could ask about his estate, his tenants, crops and livestock. Her familiarity with the business of Longbourn, which had increased in direct proportion to the withdrawal of her father’s participation in managing the estate, allowed her to ask such questions which might properly be the province of another estate owner and certainly were not, in polite society, considered proper conversation for a lady. The Gardiners, recognizing her purpose and the gentleman’s willingness to oblige their niece, withdrew slightly from the discussion and took the opportunity to watch the other two more closely.

Elizabeth hardly knew why she was behaving so. She had been introduced by her aunt and uncle to quite a number of gentlemen over the past few years. Towards none of them had she showed anything other than polite interest. She could not remember any attempt, or interest, on her part to better understand any of the gentlemen. As she wondered why was she behaving so differently now, she realized she had missed some portion of the conversation and brought her attention back to where it belonged. Fortunately, the subject was one that required no response from her and she was satisfied that her lapse had passed unnoticed. She would address the question of her purpose later, when time would allow such deliberations.

An invitation to view the house was rendered and accepted; Mr. Waring was shortly guiding a tour of the various rooms which showed themselves to be of a good size, tastefully but simply furnished with materials and furniture that was well made but clearly, in many instances, of some age. It was a comfortable dwelling and one in which Elizabeth felt very much at home. Of the specific rooms that they were shown, she remembered little. Only the library captured her attention. That he showed it to them was unusual she knew; most homes that they had toured considered the library to be part of the family quarters and not open to public viewing.

Upon entering the library, she quite forgot about her companions. It was an excellent room, warmly furnished in dark panelling with shelves lining three of the walls, a fireplace with two comfortable armchairs placed companionably in front and a large window overlooking the terrace beyond. She wandered down one wall, fingers brushing the spines of the books, pausing once or twice to extract a book to read its title, and was so obviously entranced as to lose quite thoroughly the conversation between the others in the room. She was only drawn back by her uncle’s words, spoken loudly enough – and purposefully so, she was sure – to gain her attention.

“I believe we have lost Lizzy for the evening, Mr. Waring! There is no room as precious to her as a library.”

Mr. Waring only smiled.

Elizabeth did not refuse the opportunity to express her appreciation. "You have reason to be proud, Mr. Waring. My father would be enthralled were he to see it; I think I have seen only one that is finer.” She waved her hand to include the whole room. “This casts Longbourn’s quite into the shadows.” She laughed, “It would be best if he did not see it. We might never get him to return to Longbourn.”

“I am pleased that it meets with your approval, Miss Bennet. I own to spending many hours here.”

“You have taken a great deal of effort in building this library, Mr. Waring, have you not?”

“Yes I have. But how did you know?”

“Although I have scanned but a few of the books here, many appear to be of recent publication.”

“I cannot countenance the neglect of a library.” Elizabeth started at his phrase, so reminiscent of one uttered by Mr. Darcy.

“Miss Bennet?”

Her reaction had not escaped Mr. Waring’s attention.

“’Tis nothing, Mr. Waring. I was simply remembering the words of another gentleman who, much like yourself, was devoted to his library.”

If Mr. Waring was perturbed by her response, he masked it well and their tour continued until the arrival of a footman to announce that dinner would be ready in a half hour brought a closure to it. The children were recalled and rooms provided to refresh themselves; and, at the appointed time, they gathered once more to dine. Elizabeth could later recall little of the meal itself. It had been a lively evening, the happy good spirits of the children, although moderated by the manners ingrained in them, would allow for nothing less. Mr. Waring appeared to enjoy it all in his restrained manner. Elizabeth could see that his was not a demeanour given to exuberance, but his pleasure in his company was revealed in the small smile he wore and his not infrequent teasing of the children. Clearly, he was not unused to children and yet she saw no signs of a woman’s touch around his home. Elizabeth was a little more withdrawn during the meal, content to observe more than participate. Nonetheless, when called upon to contribute, she did so and earned her share of the gaiety.

All too soon the dinner was complete. The lateness off the hour, a need to ensure that the children were ensconced in their beds at the proper time, combined with a reluctance on Mr. Gardiner’s part to travel at night, were sufficient to persuade him to not delay overlong before returning to their inn. It was with obvious reluctance that Mr. Waring agreed, but then, with a considerable amount of uncertainty in his manner, he made a rather astonishing offer to Mr. Gardiner.

“I have quite enjoyed the company of you and your family these past two days. I do not often have visitors and I must admit that I found your company very much to my taste. Oaksley has not heard the happy sound of children for too many years." He paused for a moment of two. "I understand that you plan to remain here for another s’ennight complete.”

Mr. Gardiner nodded his agreement, obviously puzzled as to Mr. Waring’s purpose.

“Ah … I was wondering if you would care to stay here. I have rooms enough for you all and you can as readily explore the area from here, as from the inn. I believe that my cook is superior to theirs and the rooms better.” The last was tendered with a small grin.

His desire for them to accept his offer was palpable. He looked at both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner hopefully. Mrs. Gardiner could see no indication of reluctance on the part of Elizabeth to stay and her children were quite enthused by the idea of having access to the stables and the freedom of the Park. A simple nod to Mr. Gardiner and the deed was done. The Gardiners and Elizabeth were to come and take up residence the following morning. If Mr. Waring had a purpose other than the pleasure of their company, it was one that only he knew, although Mrs. Gardiner’s suspicions had now been more fully aroused.

The trip back to the inn was quiet - even the children were tired from their exertion. Within a half hour of entering their rooms both were fast asleep and the adults could remove to their private sitting room to discuss the day’s happenings. Mrs. Gardiner was familiar enough with her niece to recognize that some part of her behaviour was uncharacteristic. She had rarely seen her so focussed on another person. That it was a gentleman made the situation replete with possibilities. She also knew Elizabeth well enough to accept that overt questioning might well cause her to be more circumspect in her behaviour. So her first comments were directed to her husband.

“I believe you anticipate spending more time fishing, Edward.”

“Indeed I do. I so rarely have the opportunity to indulge myself.”

“I will not be so unkind as to deprive you of the sport or Mr. Waring’s company.” She glanced at Elizabeth, “I believe Lizzy and I can find sufficient amusement in the park to pass the hours quite enjoyably. Can we not, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth smiled, "I would not dream of asking you to forsake such pleasures, Uncle. Mr. Waring’s park has, I believe, enough paths and trails that even a s’ennight might be insufficient to explore them all.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled, “And the children will be quite delighted to ride, if Mr. Waring permits it.”

“I cannot believe Mr. Waring would refuse them the pleasure, Aunt.”

“Nor do I. He appears to be quite an amiable gentleman, although perhaps a little reticent or shy.”

Elizabeth nodded, “He talks easily enough though, on subjects of interest to him.”

Mr. Gardiner interjected, “I found him to be quite interesting. He apparently has travelled widely. His opinions on those places we have both visited mirror my own in many respects. He was most interested in our trips to Derbyshire and, particularly, Cornwall, which he apparently has yet to visit. We spoke a great deal of that trip.”

“Perhaps he shall visit there.” suggested Elizabeth.

“Perhaps.”

A silence that lasted several minutes fell over them. Each had thoughts which absorbed their attention. Mr. Gardiner’s were relatively uncomplicated. He had not exhausted his enjoyment in fishing and was already planning his next outing. On those few occasions he could indulge in the sport, he had fished alone. The company of Mr. Waring was enjoyable, not least because the latter knew when conversation was appropriate and when it would disturb the sport itself.

Mrs. Gardiner’s contemplations were focused on her niece who was sitting quietly on the settee, a book in her hands; but, as a page had yet to be turned, she doubted not that her niece’s thoughts were elsewhere. While she would not ask her to share them with her, it might be possible to discover where they tended.

“What think you of Mr. Waring’s invitation, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth was startled by her aunt’s question and her response was hesitant, “I … it was a most generous gesture, Aunt.”

“Indeed, it was.”

Mr. Gardiner’s attention was captured by his wife’s question, “I admit to being quite surprised by it. I had not expected such civility. It is a singular honour to be invited to stay. Not every landowner will be so gracious to one who derives his living from trade.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement, “I believe Mr. Waring places little stock in such considerations, Uncle.”

“Well, you should know better than I, Lizzy. You spoke to him quite extensively this afternoon."

Elizabeth flushed slightly, “I hope you found nothing improper in our conversation, Uncle?”

“No, No! I know you too well, Lizzy, to believe such to be possible. I heard nothing that I would consider improper. Perhaps unusual, as I suspect few young women are as versed in the subject of estate management as yourself; but Mr. Waring did not seem to object.”

“Quite the reverse!” offered Mrs. Gardiner.

Elizabeth looked at her aunt and uncle in some confusion, “I beg your pardon?”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled, “Nothing, dear. Only that Mr. Waring did not appear at all distressed at discussing such matters with you.”

Mr. Gardiner rose, stretched and was about to suggest that they retire when something occurred to him. "I wonder, Madeline, if we might visit Malmesbury Abbey tomorrow after luncheon. Perhaps Mr. Waring would consent to be our guide.”

This suggestion met with the approval of the two ladies and they all shortly retired to the privacy of their bedchambers, each to their own thoughts.

The next morning found them packing for the move to Oaksley Manor, a feat undertaken after breaking their fast. Thus it was that two hours before noon found them drawing up once more to the entrance to the manor house. Several footmen, under the direction of the butler, were charged with unloading and carrying all the trunks to the appropriate rooms. Mr. Waring himself, accompanied by his housekeeper, a stern-faced woman of some fifty years, undertook to acquaint them with their chambers which, upon being entered, met with the approval of all his visitors. Elizabeth was particularly charmed by her room which was simply but pleasantly outfitted in comfortable furnishings and light bright colours. She did not fail to express her delight to Mr. Waring but a comment from her young cousin deflected her attention and she missed the look of pleasure upon Mr. Waring’s countenance. Neither Mrs. Gardiner nor the housekeeper was as unobservant and both retained the information for further consideration. Mrs. Gardiner did catch a speculative glance or two at her niece by the housekeeper but could find nothing in that lady’s demeanour to determine whether her niece met with her approval. Mrs. Gardiner was not insensible to the fact that the opinions of a loyal servant – and the housekeeper had apparently worked for the Waring family for more than twenty years – could have significance out of proportion to her position in life. If her musings were correct, it might be important for this woman to like and appreciate Elizabeth.

  
**June, 1814 - Darcy House, London**

Darcy’s return to London after his visit to Rosings quickly found him once more engaged in escorting his sister to the various events that comprised the season. About a week following his return, he dined at the home of a gentleman he had known since his college days. Married now and the father of a growing family, he and his wife remained amongst his closest and most welcome friends. Darcy had accepted their invitation knowing that the company would provide amiable and intelligent conversation. Henry and Alice Goodwell encouraged free ranging discussions and tonight, to no one’s true surprise, much of the conversation centred on the conclusion to the war against Napoleon and the signing of the Treaty of Chaumont. The ladies were no less eager to voice their opinions than the gentlemen and more than one couple indicated their intention to tour the continent now that peace had been established and the French tyrant assigned to Elba.

Darcy, who was seated to the left of Mrs. Goodwell, listened to the conversation, occasionally interjecting a comment where appropriate, but for the most part was content to observe. During a lapse in the discussion, Mrs. Goodwell turned her attention to him and asked, “And what of you, Mr. Darcy? Do you intend to travel to the continent?”

“I think not, madam. I expect to spend my summer at Pemberley.”

One of the other guests, Mr. Holmes, also a close acquaintance of Darcy, retorted, “I thought you had other plans. I spoke with Gervaise House last week and he claimed that you declined his invitation to visit his estate this summer. A prior commitment, I believe?”

Darcy was slightly embarrassed. "Not quite, I believe I indicated that my plans were uncertain.”

Mrs. Goodwell, who knew Gervaise House quite well, murmured, “Would the presence of Gervaise’s unmarried sister contribute to the uncertainty of such plans, Mr. Darcy?”

Her sally drew a small smile from Darcy “Let us just say that I prefer to avoid exciting any ambitions I have no intention of fulfilling.”

The conversation drifted onto other topics and Darcy forgot the matter until he was approached by his host as he was preparing to leave.

“Darcy, my wife tells me that you are quite at leisure this summer with no fixed plans. If that is the case, you might wish to visit us for a month or so. I can promise you no unmarried sisters, cousins or any other unattached females other than my mother. You and your sister would be most welcome, I assure you. What say you?”

Darcy took but a moment to consider his friend’s offer. A month’s visit in Shropshire had its attractions and it was an area which he had not previously visited. "I think, Goodwell, that I would be very well pleased to visit you and your wife. I will have to speak to my sister to confirm that she will join us but I know of no other commitment on her part.”

“When shall we expect you then?”

After some discussion, it was agreed that he might visit in July and stay for six weeks. Mrs. Goodwell promised, “A merry party we shall make with my brother and his wife visiting, and you and your sister.”


	8. In which Miss Bennet has several interesting conversations

**Mid-June, 1814 - Oaksley Manor, near Malmesbury, Wiltshire**

Despite having estate business to claim his time and his not infrequent sorties with Mr. Gardiner to inflict further damage on the fish population in the area, Mr. Waring was more than content to act as their guide. They did indeed tour Malmesbury Abbey, visit Trowbridge, the remains of Trowbridge Castle and, of course, several woollen industries, for, as Mr. Gardiner asserted, “I am a tradesman, after all!”

While the gentlemen fished, the ladies and children enjoyed the grounds of the estate and passed their time quite satisfactorily. The evenings generally found all of them ensconced in the drawing room. Their amusements were varied: Elizabeth could, on occasion, be persuaded to entertain them with music on the pianoforte; a common enjoyment in whist was discovered; but more often than not, conversation was their main pleasure. If Mr. Waring was not Mr. Gardiner’s equal in garrulousness, he was more than capable of holding his own in any conversation, whether the subject were literature, plays, poetry, travel and, not infrequently, politics. His was not a mind to believe that women did not, and should not, have opinions on political matters and he was more than ready to discuss current issues with both Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner. Not only did Elizabeth enjoy the discourse, she found that from his knowledge she could expand her own. Her respect for his understanding and his character grew as she came to know him better.

The time for their return home approached and they were to leave the next morning to travel south towards Shaftsbury before wending their way back to London. Mr. Waring had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. While usually reticent, his inattentiveness and quiet drew the notice of the Gardiners and Elizabeth, all of whom believed it to be caused by their imminent departure. They were proven correct after the children had been sent to bed when Mr. Waring finally spoke.

“Miss Bennet, there is a book in the library I wish to show you. Would you have a look at it with me?” He turned to the Gardiners, “We shall be no more than a few minutes, I assure you.”

Mr. Gardiner looked at him for a moment, his countenance a careful mask. Elizabeth was not sure if he was hiding glee, amusement or some other emotion but she and her relatives knew that this was not a simple request to consider a book. After the briefest of pauses, Mr. Gardiner nodded and Mr. Waring offered his arm to lead Elizabeth to the library.

Once they had entered, Mr. Waring ensured that the door remained partially opened and then directed Elizabeth to the window overlooking the terrace, now shrouded in darkness and lit only from the faint light coming from their window. They could be seen from the doorway, but any conversation, if conducted in reasonable tones, would be unheard.

Elizabeth waited. She did not know whether he was to offer for her or ask for a courtship. In either case, her answer would be the same. He took several moments to order his thoughts.

“Miss Bennet. I hope you will forgive my presumption as I have asked you here under false pretences, for I wanted an opportunity to speak with you in private before your departure. I am not sure if you realize how much I have enjoyed your company during your stay at Oaksley and how much I regret that you must leave tomorrow.” He gathered himself and once more his gaze fixed on the view through the window. "I am not a young man … No! No! Let me be truthful.” He did not allow Elizabeth to interrupt, “I am perhaps twenty years your senior. I do not have the impetuosity of youth, and have learned to know my own mind. I wish to ask you a particular question but I think - no, I believe - it is too soon. We, neither of us, know the other well enough yet to make irrevocable decisions.” He stopped for a second or two before switching his gaze to her face. "Would you consent to a courtship, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth gathered her courage. She liked this gentleman and thought he would make her an admirable husband. While she had no wish to discourage his attentions, there was an issue that could not be hidden from him. Her honour would not allow for that; however, she did not feel herself in enough command when discussing it to be able to do so calmly.

“Mr. Waring, I would be pleased to accept a courtship. I have come to feel a considerable admiration for you as well. But … there is a matter you must be informed about that may cause you to rescind your offer, sir.” She paused and looked at him. His confusion was obvious. "May I call my uncle to join us? I believe he can impart the information to you better than I. Once you hear my uncle, please be assured that I will quite understand if you change your mind.”

Mr. Waring quickly agreed and a footman sent to request Mr. Gardiner’s presence. That gentleman, accompanied by his wife, was shortly shown into the library and quickly apprised of the offer and Elizabeth’s request.

“Uncle, I cannot speak of Lydia calmly and ask that you explain the matter to Mr. Waring.”

Mrs. Gardiner took Elizabeth by the hand and sat with her while retaining her grasp. Mr. Gardiner looked at his niece and nodded before turning to Mr. Waring. "Please excuse my niece, Mr. Waring. Understand that what has concerned her has, in truth, little to do with her directly. You see, her youngest sister …”

He then explained all that had happened with Lydia Bennet, her purported elopement, her disappearance and the damage to the reputation of the Bennet family.

Mr. Waring was thoughtful for several seconds after Mr. Gardiner finished before turning to Elizabeth, “My dear girl, this is why you are so unhappy when discussing your home! I now understand.” He shook his head smiling, “I see no impediment. None at all. Wiltshire is, after all, a fair distance from Hertfordshire and sufficient time has passed to render the topic of little interest. So you have accepted my courtship, then?”

At Elizabeth’s nod and smile, he turned to Mr. Gardiner. "I suppose I need your consent? Or Mr. Bennet’s?”

“Elizabeth is of age, of course, so my consent is not really required but I give it anyway. My Brother Bennet will also agree, although I see no reason for concerning him at this stage.”

The remainder of the evening was devoted to determining the particulars of the courtship. The Gardiners were persuaded to extend their sojourn at Oaksley Manor for several days before journeying directly back to London. And Elizabeth, instead of traveling to Longbourn and her family after reaching London, would reside with the Simmonses, who, by this time, would have returned to London. Mr. Waring would make his way to London a week later and stay with the Gardiners.

However, there was one thing Elizabeth wished to know quite urgently. "If we are to court, I do not believe that I can continue to address you as Mr. Waring or Sir. Pray, what is your Christian name?”

The teasing quality of her request robbed it of any impropriety that he might have thought it contained, “Anthony … Elizabeth. My name is Anthony Waring.”

“Anthony.” She savoured the name, “I like it. I would not have thought of you as an Anthony, but I find it suits you quite well.”

“Well, I find I have quite gotten used to it by now … Elizabeth.”

“As shall I … Anthony!”

  
**Late June, 1814 - Sloane Street, London**

To her delight, upon her arrival in London, Elizabeth discovered that her sister had returned, but a few days previous, from Ramsgate where she, her husband and their babe had enjoyed the sea air. Jane’s spirits were high and she was looking forward to the re-establishment of the comforts and routines of her own household. The news that her favourite sister was coming to stay with her and her reasons for doing so, only added to Jane’s delight.

The Gardiners and Elizabeth were invited to dine with the Simmonses the next night. The highlight of their dinner was young Elizabeth Simmons who was brought into their company and admired by all. Everyone agreed that she had grown a great deal during her stay in Ramsgate. She did not visit with them for very long; the young lady seemed rather bemused by the attention and became increasingly sleepy, so she was shortly thereafter returned to the nursery.

While their tour was described in some detail, the major interest of the Simmonses was fixed upon Elizabeth’s courtship. The Gardiners were quite enthusiastic in their endorsement of Anthony Waring and Jane could see that her sister had developed some feelings for the gentleman; however, when apprised of his age, Jane cast a worried look at Elizabeth. Although Jane refrained from commenting upon the difference in their ages, Elizabeth knew her sister too well to expect that the subject would not be addressed, and rather sooner than otherwise. In one sense, she was relieved to be staying with the Gardiners for the night and not taking residence with her sister for several more days. Unfortunately, any hopes Elizabeth might have harboured for a respite from her sister’s inquisition were lost when Jane declared that she would visit her the next morning.

“Do not think, Lizzy, that you shall avoid me. I will know it all!” Jane looked at her aunt with a mock serious cast to her gentle features, “I will expect your support on this, Aunt. She shall not escape my questioning.”

Mrs. Gardiner began to chuckle, “Indeed, I would not dare. Shall I lock her in her room till you arrive?”

Elizabeth huffed, “I have no secrets. I shall disclose anything you wish. Whatever you wish me to say, I will say.”

Jane shook her head, “She is starting already. But I will be relentless on this. You are warned, Lizzy.”

Mr. Simmons looked rather puzzled at this exchange. He did not know Elizabeth well enough to take her full measure, although he had come to like her a great deal. He certainly did not think her particularly secretive. His wife noticed his puzzlement and responded, “My dear husband, you have yet to learn that my sister Elizabeth is very adept at hiding her closest thoughts with jests, misdirection and other contrivances.”

Elizabeth huffed again, “I beg you to notice that I am here in the room.”

“I am simply informing your brother as to the character of his sister, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth was finally able to persuade the others to cease their teasing by asking Jane about their vacation. While Elizabeth’s thoughts immediately recalled that Mr. Darcy’s sister had almost been persuaded by Wickham to elope from Ramsgate, such memories should not detract in any way from her own sister’s enjoyment. If Jane remembered any such painful thoughts, it was not obvious from the way she described the sights and the excursions they had made. From the occasional blushes on her sister’s countenance, she rather suspected that many of her most pleasurable moments could never be shared – not even with a most beloved sister. A small pang of jealousy entered Elizabeth’s thoughts but was as quickly banished. She would not envy her sister her felicity, but look forward to the possibility of her own.

True to her words, Jane was ushered into the Gardiner household the next morning at the early hour of nine to find her sister and cousins still at the breakfast table. Elizabeth was allowed to finish her meal, enjoy a quick cup of tea and then was bustled upstairs to her bedroom where, as her elder sister phrased it, “I will have all the details, Lizzy. All of them!”

Elizabeth made no serious protest. In truth, she wished to discuss the courtship. Any reluctance she might feel was in knowing whether her sister or her aunt was the better confidante. She had rather hoped to discuss it with her aunt first, but an opportune moment had not presented itself. Her sister was here now, and looking for answers.

Elizabeth climbed on her bed and sat with her back resting against the headboard while Jane brought a chair next to the bed upon which to sit. Fixing her sister with as stern a glance as she could manage, Jane finally broke the silence.

“He is twenty years your senior, Lizzy. What are you about?”

“He is, in fact, only seventeen years older than me. Is his age your only concern?”

“I do not know him at all, but should not such a difference in age be a concern?”

“I could wish he were younger, but there are so many other good parts to him that his age seems to me to be unimportant.”

“I do not understand.”

“He is intelligent and thoughtful, he treats me and my opinions with respect, and he is not ill-looking at all – quite the reverse actually - which you must admit a man should be if at all possible. He also has a decent competence to provide for me and any children we might have.” She turned briefly thoughtful, “I do not know his income – perhaps uncle does – it was never mentioned nor should it have been.”

“And?”

Elizabeth looked puzzled, “And? … well he prefers the country to town – a point on which we agree; his house is very nicely furnished which suggests he has good taste; his library is excellent – our father would be quite envious; and his park has delightful trails.” She paused for effect, “And there is one aspect of his character which must recommend him to you.” The grin that accompanied these words drew an almost involuntary response from Jane.

“And that is?”

“He esteems me enough to wish to court me!”

Jane laughed, “This is a positive aspect? I might wonder if it is not a flaw!” She regarded her sister as she chuckled at that sally but her mien gradually became more sombre.

“You have spoken of many things, Lizzy; but not of your feelings.”

Elizabeth sighed, “You wonder if I love him?”

Jane nodded. Her eyes remained fixed on her sister’s face. Elizabeth considered her answer. She had no reason to question Jane’s love for her husband. Her heart, so badly damaged by Mr. Bingley, had finally healed and loved again. That Jane wished equal felicity in marriage for her sister, Elizabeth did not doubt. For her part, Elizabeth was quite uncertain as to state of her feelings.

“Is that not the purpose of a courtship? To allow a couple to determine whether a marriage is agreeable to both parties?”

“Lizzy, I will not dispute the purpose of a courtship. That was not my question and, you, I believe, are evading an answer.”

Elizabeth knew that indeed she was avoiding an answer for her sister and suddenly realized that, on this matter, she needed the more pragmatic counsel of her aunt. Jane, she knew, would be unhappy on her behalf if she entered a marriage where she did not love her partner and Elizabeth would not be able to convince her sister she was in love if she had not convinced herself first. She did not know how Jane would respond if told that her sister planned to enter a marriage for prudent reasons – that she esteemed her future husband but did not love him, at least not yet. Elizabeth believed that love could develop in a marriage founded on mutual respect but, even if it did not, she could find contentment with Anthony Waring. No, she would have to placate her sister and seek counsel from her aunt.

“As to love, I hardly know yet, Jane. I hardly know.”

  
**Late June - Early July, 1814 - Sloane Street, London**

Mr. Bennet received a missive from Mr. Waring, prior to his arrival in Town on the day expected, informing him of the courtship and of Mr. Gardiner's consent. In his usual indolent style, Mr. Bennet waited near a fortnight to respond, acknowledging the letter and stating that, although his consent was not required, he had no objections to the courtship. With his daughter he communicated not at all.

Mr. Waring called every day at the Simmonses’ home and, while the rules of propriety were generally observed, neither he nor Elizabeth felt overly concerned when out in public. The weather was, for the most part, sufficiently fine so as to allow long walks and, as such activity fitted both their preferences, they felt free to indulge themselves as often as was possible. The opportunity thus created to talk and explore each other’s likes and dislikes was seized and few topics escaped their attention. It was soon apparent that they held differing opinions on subjects as frequently as their opinions coincided, but a tolerance and consideration for the other’s position ensured that arguments did not lead to disagreeableness between them. In fact, such contention gave a flavour to their discussions that was quite enjoyable. He challenged her and forced her to rethink some of her opinions and it was to her satisfaction that she realized she sometimes returned the service. Elizabeth soon found that her suitor was more apt than her father to explain his position when they disagreed rather than dismiss it with a sardonic comment – a trait Mr. Bennet displayed increasingly since Lydia’s disappearance.

On the subject of their respective families there was muchto discuss. If Elizabeth expected Anthony Waring to view hers with disapprobation equal to that of Mr. Darcy, she was pleasantly surprised. Of course, as she realized, he had already met the Gardiners, and the Simmonses could not but recommend themselves to him. That many of her family had roots in trade was apparently offset in his eyes by their intelligence and gentility.

She reluctantly acquiesced in his determination to travel to Longbourn, alone, to further acquaint her father with his suit and to meet her sisters and mother. Upon his return, he was quite relaxed and amiable as he faced her questions.

Elizabeth had not accompanied him on the trip at his request and, in truth, she was not unhappy to be spared facing an uncertain interview with her father or the excited reaction of her mother. Her discomfit must have been more obvious than she expected; when she inquired about his visit the day after he returned, Waring moved to sit beside her on the settee and, with her hand in his, reassured her. "I will not have you worry about this, Elizabeth. I found nothing that would cause me the slightest concern. Your two sisters were very pleasant and I will enjoy getting to know them better.”

Elizabeth interjected, “I do hope my mother was more moderate in her effusions than is her wont. Do you know, she quite despaired of any man wishing to court me? Of course, I have no doubt she began planning a wedding ceremony scant moments after learning we were courting and, for the first time, I probably became her favourite daughter.”

“Your mother was definitely … enthusiastic. I am afraid I disappointed her greatly, as I would not impart the size of my income or how many rooms there are in Oaksley Manor.” He tried to hide the small moue of distaste that he felt at being so importuned. "You did warn me, did you not?”

Elizabeth’s laugh reflected more embarrassment than humour, “For that I am thankful - if you had told her, all of Meryton would have known within a day. I remember how she behaved when Jane had a suitor paying attentions to her. She talked in public of them being married before the poor man had even proposed.” She shook her head in dismay, remembering her feelings, “I doubt I was ever as embarrassed, before or since, as I was that evening.”

Waring wondered at her disinterest in the question that her mother had so blatantly addressed, “You are not interested? In my income, that is?”

“I could see from Oaksley that you are able to provide a comfortable existence for a wife and family.” and, with a cheeky grin, she added, “And Mrs. Turner told me the number of rooms.” She became serious again, “Should I need to know more, I have every confidence that you will tell me.”

Waring smiled and then nodded thoughtfully, not displeased that this response was tendered with such ease and openness. He had known that she accepted his courtship from motives that contained a reasonable amount of prudence. Any sensible woman would do the same. However, nothing he had learned about her character would indicate mercenary desires. She was not a fortune hunter. Her revelation about her sister’s Lydia’s misfortunes, which a woman of a mercenary inclination would have endeavoured to hide, absolved her of the charge. He returned to his thoughts on her family.

“As I said, I found your mother’s enthusiasms … bearable. She showed, I thought, an honest pleasure at your good fortune and happiness. Your father, however …”

“Yes, my father.” Elizabeth was not surprised at her father’s reaction. The chasm that had grown between them over the last few years remained. Her father’s injured pride and his anger at her disappointment in both his past and current behaviour had not abated. She could only wonder that the prospect of her permanent removal from his house did not please him in some manner. Surely, the absence of one who was a constant reminder of his failures would be a relief.

“He was not unhappy at my request. He was, rather … casual, almost disinterested. As though it was a matter of little concern or interest to him. I admit his reception was a puzzle. I had been given to understand by the Gardiners that you were his favourite daughter.”

"I am afraid my father resents me because he knows I hold him responsible for not only Lydia's disappearance but also for how she had been allowed to grow up. My father is not a bad man, but he chose to mock his wife and daughters rather than help them improve, and he countenanced the most improper behaviour of his family because to correct it would disturb his peace of mind. And this I could no longer abide when it had cost us so much. I fear I made my disapproval obvious and I can only assume that his pride has been wounded."

Waring could see that despite her best efforts, the reaction of her father was upsetting. "Do not distress yourself, Elizabeth. He has, after all, given his blessing.” He hesitated for a moment or two before continuing, “Your sisters appeared very happy for you, but from one or two small comments, I discerned some concern in them about their future or perhaps the future of Longbourn. I admit it was not clear and I did not have an opportunity to pursue the matter with them.”

Elizabeth shook her head ruefully, “I cannot be sure of their exact concern, although I have a suspicion … they may fear for their future after I marry.” She looked down at their joined hands for several seconds.

“I have a confession, Anthony. For all intents and purposes, and against most dictates of society, I have been the Master of Longbourn for almost two years. My father was ever a dilatory manager but, after Lydia’s disappearance, he no longer troubled himself with managing our estate. He stays at home every day, locked in his book room, even taking his meals there. It started with a piece of correspondence which my father had ignored and would, if unanswered, have cost Longbourn a large amount. I began meeting frequently with our steward, Mr. Carton, to handle important correspondence and to consult with him on contracts, rent negotiations, the accounts and ledgers. I was the only one who could assume the responsibilities my father shirked. Jane, although knowledgeable, is too soft-hearted and too kind to make the difficult decisions necessary to run our estate, and neither Kitty nor Mary knows enough to do it yet, although I have been teaching them. Kitty has been taking care of things in my absence and Mary has taken on the management of the household under Mrs. Hill's guidance." Attempting to lighten their discussion, Elizabeth smiled, "I am certain you have wondered why I was so interested in your farming techniques and Oaksley's tenants. Now you know! Despise me if you dare."

Waring murmured something to soothe her and she gave a rueful chuckle, "I have, I fear, displayed the most unladylike behaviour."

Waring began to chuckle, “Do you suppose this diminishes your appeal, Elizabeth? I assure you, it does not. Quite the reverse.”

Elizabeth flushed at the warmth in his eyes and tone of voice. She had become so inured to criticism that honest words of approbation sometimes quite overset her. She tried to cover her embarrassment.

“Did you encounter my Aunt and Uncle Philips?”

Waring rolled his eyes, “Aye!”

Elizabeth laughed, “My aunt is quite vulgar; harmless and possessed of a good heart, but vulgar indeed. My uncle, well, he is most sensible in the mornings. He does love his port wine. Fortunately, they travel very little beyond Meryton.”

A comfortable silence lasted for a minute or two before Elizabeth's pensive look caused Waring to inquire as to the cause.

“Oh, it is nothing really. But I was wondering about your family. You have never spoken of them. I have almost come to believe you have none.”

“No, that is not the case, although I concede my family is quite small. Apart from some very distant cousins of whom I have little knowledge, my family is comprised solely of an elder sister and her husband and children, a son of twenty-five and a daughter two years younger and recently married.”

Elizabeth could see he was a little reluctant to continue and wondered at the cause of his disquiet. She squeezed his hand gently saying, “There is no need to talk of this now if you do not wish it.” She looked out the nearest window. "It would please me to go for a walk.”

This was very agreeable to Waring and within a short time they were suitably garbed, outside and walking at a brisk pace towards the nearest park. Elizabeth felt no need to converse; however, it seemed that the activity had loosened whatever reservations Waring possessed about discussing his family, for he began shortly after they started.

"I must apologize, Elizabeth. I did not intend to avoid the subject. My sister, Melanie, is some ten years my senior. We were never particularly close growing up; she married at eighteen and moved away. Her husband is a barrister and they live in Manchester.”

Elizabeth walked in silence beside him, waiting for him to continue.

“I have never liked Melanie's husband. He possesses a very elevated sense of his own importance and the insignificance of the rest of the world. I believe I took an immediate dislike to him when we first met though I was but eight, and my opinion did not improve the older and more discerning I became.”

“Were your sister and parents deceived in his character, then?” Elizabeth could not credit that Waring would have misjudged his brother-in-law.

“No, unfortunately, my sister was quite determined on the man. Mr. Stokes is the third son of an Earl and grandson of a Marquis on his mother’s side. He is excessively proud of this heritage and has no qualms as to the belief in his superiority over the rest of society by virtue of his rank and connections. Regrettably for him, his father’s estate was completely entailed away to the oldest son and he was in need of a match with a well-dowered woman, which would afford him a lifestyle not made possible by his efforts alone. Mr. Stokes was accepted by my sister who held similar opinions and happily in possession of a handsome dowry. I later learned that my parents were not in favour of the match, but Melanie was not to be gainsaid.” He frowned, “And I have no reason to believe she is unhappy with him.”

“What is he like? As to his character, I know of no particular evil of him. He is not dissolute to my knowledge. I believe him to be honest enough …”

“However …?”

“Yes, well. He settled upon the law for his career as neither the clergy nor the military captured his interest. His station and consequence are well-known, and the success he enjoys as a barrister is due heavily to his connection to his brother, the Earl of _____. Many of the judges at the assizes, though below his sphere, are much in his company in society. They, in turn, are much impressed by his condescension in treating them so civilly and, I fear, accord his cases a similar respect. As a result, I suspect his efforts are more successful than warranted and he has come to believe that his successes were due to his significant abilities and that most things can be bent to his wishes. In short, he is arrogant, rude, condescending and, all too frequently, presumptuous.”

Elizabeth was silent for a few moments, “Are you often in their company?”

Waring shook his head, “No … no more than necessary. There is a sufficiency of distance and distaste on my part as to make visits infrequent, and never for more than a fortnight. I admit that the separation is due mostly to my reluctance to be in their company. I believe my last visit was for their daughter’s wedding, and that was some two or three years ago.”

Elizabeth wondered at such an estrangement, “I imagine they have visited Oaksley?”

“I cannot say that there is any particular issue between us; and yes, they have visited Oaksley and I have been made acutely and frequently aware of its inferiority to the estates owned by my brother’s family.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, “That is badly done. I have seen many of the great estates, visited them on tours with my aunt and uncle. Oaksley is a fine estate. It may lack the size and grandeur of a Chatsworth, but it is most beautifully situated with a wonderful park. It is not inferior in any of those respects that I consider important and I believe I am not singular in that opinion.”

“Let us put my sister and her family aside and enjoy our walk. I have been reviewing the theatre offerings and was wondering if I might entice you to attend …”

~~~

Their courtship was not all walks and conversations. They dined together every evening, either at the Gardiners or with the Simmonses. As well, they attended the theatre twice, visited museums and art exhibits. By the end of three weeks, it was clear to Elizabeth that Mr. Waring would offer for her. She knew her answer, was confident in its rationality and of her growing regard for him; however, she could not dispel a certain discomfort about her decision to accept him. There was nothing for it, she required the good counsel of her aunt. Because Mr. Waring was staying with the Gardiners, some machinations were required to ensure privacy for such a discussion and, with her uncle’s cooperation, Mr. Waring was persuaded to visit Tattersall’s with him to inspect some horses. Elizabeth and her aunt removed themselves to her aunt’s private sitting room. Mrs. Gardiner chose to be quite direct.

“I assume that you wish to discuss Mr. Waring. Is there a problem?”

“No! None at all! Indeed, the courtship has gone very well.”

“Then what is your concern, Lizzy? You do intend to accept his offer, do you not? Based on his attentions to you, I hazard he will make his addresses very soon.”

Elizabeth’s voice was firm, “Yes. I have every intention of accepting. He is as fine a man as I have known.”

“Then what is the problem? … I am confused, Lizzy. Why do you wish to talk with me?”

Elizabeth suppressed a touch of shame as she stated, as firmly as she could, “I esteem and respect Mr. Waring and have an affection for him; I am prepared to accept a prudent marriage, to a most respectable man. But is that wrong? I cannot say I love him, or hold a passionate regard for him. This worries me because I think his feelings for me are much stronger than mine for him.”

Mrs. Gardiner considered her niece for several long moments. "Has Mr. Waring kissed you, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth was shocked at the bluntness of the question and her shock drew a smile from her aunt.

“Has he, Lizzy?”

“No! He has not!”

“Have you felt the wish to kiss him or have him kiss you?”

Elizabeth blushed as deeply as Mrs. Gardiner had ever seen but she seemed incapable of answering.

“I am going to assume from the colour of your face that the answer is yes. You wish him to kiss you.” Mrs. Gardiner leaned over and placed a hand atop Elizabeth’s and spoke firmly.

“I suspect that you are not unaffected by him. Even if you do not love him now, it seems very likely to me that your affections will grow and you will come to love him.”

She leaned back and continued, “I notice you used the term ‘prudent’ to describe your acceptance. It almost sounds as though you consider that to be undesirable.”

Elizabeth finally found her voice, “Not undesirable, exactly. I suppose it reminds me too much of Charlotte Collins’ decision ...”

Mrs. Gardiner looked askance, “I hardly consider accepting Mr. Waring to be akin to accepting Mr. Collins.” She shook her head, “No. That will not do. I am surprised you would think so poorly of yourself or of Mr. Waring to make such a comparison.”

“But …”

“No Lizzy. Charlotte held no affection or esteem for the man she accepted. You know she did not. She knew him for what he was – a respectable man, perhaps, but one with few redeeming characteristics and whose only attraction was that he provided her an independent establishment. You, on the other hand, are considering an offer from a gentleman who is almost the complete opposite of Mr. Collins in every respect. He is his own man, not beholden to his patroness; he is intelligent, not a fool – excuse me for being blunt but you know it to be true; he is considerate, thoughtful … well, I could continue but to what end? The only characteristic they share is that they both can provide their wife with a comfortable establishment.”

“Am I being mercenary?”

“Mercenary! Are you marrying Mr. Waring for his estate or his income?”

“No … but”

“Would you marry him if he was like Mr. Collins?”

“No!” Elizabeth’s response was sharp."I could not accept any man who treated me with such disrespect and whom I held in dislike." Her thoughts encompassed Mr. Darcy as much as Mr. Collins as she spoke.

Mrs. Gardiner laughed, “Then how can you call yourself mercenary? ... Lizzy, Lizzy can you not see the difference? There can be no objection to accepting an offer if you respect and esteem your husband. Love can, and often does, grow over time. Trust in yourself and in Mr. Waring.”

Elizabeth’s posture straightened, although she gradually assumed a quizzical look, “Does the difference in our ages bother you, Aunt?”

“Does it bother you, Lizzy?”

“Not really. I scarcely think about it any longer.”

“Then there is nothing to worry about. Mr. Waring appears to be very healthy and younger than his years. He is also quite an attractive man. I believe you will enjoy being married to him.” The latter was said with a knowing smile that brought a rosy tinge to Elizabeth’s cheeks and quite set her thoughts to wandering.

“Should I … do you think I should tell him my affections do not equal his?”

Mrs. Gardiner considered her niece’s question for some time before finally answering, “Whether you are fully aware of it or not, no one who observes the two of you would doubt your affection. I suspect that Mr. Waring is sufficiently satisfied as to the nature of your regard that you need not be explicit on the matter. If you esteem him as you have professed, I have little doubt that love will develop.”

Relieved at her aunt's advice, Elizabeth could only nod and return to considering her situation. She vowed she would be a good wife to Anthony Waring. For the first time in a long while, she looked forward to the future with great expectations. 


	9. In which Mr. Waring has an unexpected visitor and Mr. Darcy goes visiting

**Early July, 1814 - Sloane Street, London**

Elizabeth had no doubt that Anthony Waring would pay his addresses. Only the timing was uncertain. As it happened, the very next day brought the realization of her expectations. Mr. Waring arrived at his usual time and they strolled through the local park to a somewhat secluded bench they had made frequent use of before. It was there that Anthony Waring made his declaration and was happily accepted. Elizabeth was able to assure him that she received his offer with the greatest of pleasure. Although the public nature of their circumstances precluded any overt display of affection, he had no reason to doubt that she would welcome such.

The good news was shared with the Simmonses and the Gardiners, and a letter was dispatched to Mr. Bennet informing him of the engagement. Mrs. Bennet, supposing that her daughter would want her mother involved in the planning of the wedding - which she averred would take three months to plan - and in the purchase of wedding clothes, sent a letter that was swiftly set aside. Given the incivility of her treatment at the hands of her mother for the past several years, Elizabeth was not disposed to allow her any significant part of the ceremony. Mrs. Bennet would have to be content with the proclamation of it to all her nearest neighbours. The abusive letters which followed upon this decision were quickly read and more speedily assigned to a fire.

Neither Elizabeth nor Waring were disposed towards a prolonged engagement. The wedding, under the direction of Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Simmons, was to take place in London in three weeks time after the reading of the banns. Mrs. Gardiner and Jane contrived to help Elizabeth complete the necessary purchase of wedding clothes, a process which took the best part of a week, allowing her to enjoy the other two weeks in the company of her betrothed.

During the week that Elizabeth was occupied by the pursuit of wedding clothes, Waring chose to return to Oaksley to deal with some pressing business and estate matters. He also wanted to ensure that the Mistress’ chambers were cleaned and aired for his bride, although time did not permit the remodeling required. As he admitted to her before he left, “They are shockingly out-of-date and have not been touched since my mother’s death, and possibly even before that. That was twenty years ago. You may will wish to remodel them completely.”

Elizabeth assured him that, if such were the case, it could be done at their leisure. "For,” said she, “those parts of the house that I have seen are perfectly acceptable. I doubt that your mother’s rooms can be all that bad.”

To Oaksley Mr. Waring went, transacted such business as was necessary, and was sitting in his study the evening before his return to London, happily contemplating his home and the presence of Elizabeth in it. He had become inured to a solitary existence. He had resigned all expectations of marriage and having sons and daughters of his own. Now, however, the prospect of a life together with Elizabeth, and a family surrounding them, was one he viewed with the greatest of satisfaction. In his weeks in the company of the Gardiners and Simmonses, he had become fond of their children and he had seen enough of Elizabeth’s dealings with her young cousins and her niece to know what an excellent mother she would make.

His pleasant musings were most rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. His butler, Mr. Turner, intoned, “Mr. and Mrs. Stokes to see you, sir.”

Waring was surprised to see his sister and her husband. He had written them of his engagement and invited them and their family to the wedding. As he expected a note in response, not a personal visit, he doubted they travelled to Oaksley to congratulate him on his pending marriage. His conjectures were realized as soon as the immediate pleasantries as to the journey and their health were complete.

“You can be at no loss, Waring, to understand the reason of our journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why we have come.” stated Mr. Stokes.

Waring's mien was composed and his response almost playful, “I must assume that you have come in all your haste to wish me joy upon my marriage.”

Waring had never been to Spain but he had read accounts of bull-fights and knew that men waved a red cloth in front of a bull to anger it. His words appeared to have had a similar effect on his brother-in-law. Surprisingly, for a man of such heavy construction, his voice was light and inclined to being high-pitched when excited. His wife, who hitherto had been silent, laid a hand on her husband’s arm, saying calmly, “Mr. Stokes.”

The quiet remonstrance appeared to have worked and Stokes had mastered his anger when he next spoke.

“Waring,” he said, “your letter announcing your engagement reached us two days ago. If it had not been written in your own hand, I would have believed it must be a scandalous falsehood. It should be so, but I feared otherwise, and I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might talk some sense into you.”

Waring chose to pretend to have misunderstood Stokes’ final words, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could you propose by it?”

“At once to dissuade you from this farce of an engagement!”

Waring laughed, at which Stokes' mien assumed an even angrier cast, “I am afraid, Stokes, that I cannot and will not satisfy you on this matter. I shall wed Miss Bennet in two weeks.”

“This is not to be borne, Waring. Have you lost the use of your reason? Has this Miss Bennet’s arts and allurements, in a moment of infatuation, made you forget what you owe to yourself and to all your family? Let me be rightly understood. This match should never take place. No, never! Are you lost to every feeling of propriety?”

Waring smiled, “If she has made me forget myself, I shall be the last person to complain of it.” After a brief pause, he added, “I fail to comprehend your objections to Miss Bennet. In what manner is propriety breached?”

Stokes glared at Waring for a moment, and then replied, "Miss Bennet will be an embarrassment to you. She is a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to any family of consequence!”

“Yes, and what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying her, I shall certainly not be dissuaded by such trivial concerns.”

“Should you proceed with this foolishness, do not expect her to be noticed by my family or friends. She will be censured, slighted and despised by everyone connected with us. Your alliance will be a disgrace; the Waring name will never even be mentioned by any of us.”

"I am surprised that you would present such a specious argument, Stokes. I am rarely in your company, and in your family's even less. Why would I repine such a loss? If their opinion was one I valued, I might do so; but such is not the case.” replied Waring. "And permit me to assure you that the husband of Miss Elizabeth Bennet will have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to his situation that he will, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.”

"If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish her to quit the sphere in which she has been brought up.”

“I am a gentleman; she is a gentleman’s daughter; we are equal by the only standard that matters to me.”

“True. She is a gentleman daughter. But who is her mother? Who are her uncles and aunts?”

“Whatever her connections may be,” said Waring, tiring of this tirade, “if I do not object to them, they can be nothing to you.”

“You are as obstinate as ever! I expected to find you more reasonable. Is this your gratitude for the attentions of the Stokes family to you? Do you not see how you will injure your family with this marriage? You cannot be unaware that the prospects of my own children may well be harmed by such a connection. Is nothing due to me and my family on that score?"

"With regard to the resentment of your family, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by our marriage, it would not give me one moment’s concern — the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn. And, as for the prospects of your children - your daughter is married, after all, and your son's prospects are hardly my concern.”

"Why would a woman twenty years your junior be interested in marrying you? She is a fortune hunter. Surely you can see this?"

“I most certainly do not. In fact I have complete confidence that she is not at all mercenary. However, Stokes," and Waring considered him carefully for several long seconds, "can the same be said of you? I wonder at your purpose here. Perhaps it is not my marriage, but my estate and my fortune which are your concerns. You need not try and dissemble. It is writ on your countenance."

"I do not comprehend your meaning."

"I rather think you do, really. As long as I remain unmarried, my relatives by blood, your children, may expect to inherit my estate upon my death. However, when I marry Miss Bennet, and hopefully have a family, that will change. My children will be my heirs, not yours. That is your interest here today, protecting your children's inheritance, am I not correct? You, after all, have no estate to leave your son. Do you think me blind to such a circumstance?" Waring kept his gaze fixed firmly on Stokes. He could see that his words had struck home by the pursing of his brother-in-laws lips, and his heightened colour..

His sister, for the first time, intruded into the argument. "Can you not see, Brother, that we would wish to ensure that Oaksley does not fall into the hands of one who is undeserving?"

"Undeserving? You have not met Elizabeth and yet you judge her so?"

His sister would not be moved, "Her circumstances all speak against her. I will not address her character, for I know it not, but she has nothing to recommend her. Nothing! She brings no consequence and no connections to this marriage. There can be little doubt that she is after your fortune."

Waring shook his head at such willful blindness, "Not all women have aspirations such as yours, Sister. But, I have not failed to see that while you have falsely charged Elizabeth with being mercenary, your own motives cannot survive such scrutiny."

"How dare you! Do not speak to my wife with such disrespect." bellowed Stokes.

Before he could respond further, Waring continued, "Permit me to be as clear as possible. You have certainly no right to concern yourself in my affairs. I am my own man and beholden to no one on this matter. I insist that you importune me no further on the subject."

Mr. Stokes was not done. "You are then resolved to marry her?”

“Most assuredly. I am resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person unconnected with me."

"Then we shall sever all ties with you."

"Given your opposition to the match, a breach in the family is inevitable. I certainly do not wish to a further acquaintance with you after your disparagement of Miss Bennet. Should you cut all ties with me, I shall not repine the loss.”

Waring suspected that his brother-in-law was not yet prepared to concede the matter and, wearied of the pointless argument, leaned over to pull the bell-cord. While he waited for Turner to arrive, he made his final comment, “Under the circumstances I must insist that you refrain from attending my wedding. Your company will not add to our enjoyment or, from your comments, yours.”

He turned to his sister, “Since you have severed ties with me, I am sure that you would not wish to remain here overnight, which is just as well as I have no desire, given your insults of Miss Bennet, to extend that courtesy to you. I suggest that you find lodging in Malmesbury. The ____ Inn is a reputable establishment.”

Stokes was clearly affronted at being so dismissed and Waring felt a twinge, albeit only a very slight one he admitted to himself. His brother-in-law's countenanced was so suffused with blood as to possible cause an apoplectic fit. As it was, Stokes contented himself with a final word, "You have not heard the last of this!"

Waring afforded him the curtest of bows and, when Turner entered the room, instructed him as follows, “Mr. and Mrs. Stokes are leaving. Please show them out and return to see me when you have done so.”

The Stokeses were not happy to be so unceremoniously dispatched, but were not of a mind to contest the matter further. Mrs. Stokes, who had been mostly silent throughout, took her leave with a few quiet words of regret at her brother's stance.

Several minutes later, Turner entered the room once more to receive the following direction from Waring, “Until you are told otherwise by me, Mr. and Mrs. Stokes are not to be admitted to Oaksley Manor.”

  
~~~

Waring called on Elizabeth immediately upon his return to London. His mood was slightly discomposed, and so much at odds with his usual demeanor as to cause Elizabeth to be concerned. The matter was soon disclosed.

“My sister and her husband travelled from Manchester to speak to me about our marriage. Mr. Stokes wished to prevent it. I will not insult you by repeating his words.” Elizabeth was not prepared to let the matter rest and finally persuaded him to speak in some detail of the conversation, not omitting his suspicions about his brother-in-law’s real motive – the Waring estate and fortune. After he was done, she looked at Waring in amazement.

“I find it astounding that he would travel such a distance for such a purpose as he espoused, which he must have known would fail. What can be his object other than to ensure his son is your heir? Because I cannot credit his other reasons.”

“Your suspicions are not unfounded. I firmly believe they had expectations about Oaksley. I have never spoken of an heir, and it is not a far stretch for them to have expected that their son would inherit. I stated as much to them and they did not refute the charge.”

His serious mien made her wish to lightened his mood. She gave him a teasing look, “Does he perhaps have a sister or niece he wishes you to marry instead of me?“

Waring shuddered. "It has been some time since my sister has attempted to introduce me to a member of her husband's family in the hope of merging our fortunes. He may well still have some such designs, however, I have met most of Stokes' female relations and they are, I can assure you, the least interesting women of my acquaintance. You have nothing of which to be concerned.”

Elizabeth continued to regard him thoughtfully, “He is a barrister, is he not? I would have thought him more reasonable than this. Is he a sensible man?”

“I have not always found him so. His opinions are not always well-constituted or informed. He admires the distinction of rank and gives more weight to opinions from those whose station he respects.” He looked down at his hands which were clasped firmly together.

"Are you upset, Elizabeth?"

Her smile relieved his anxiety on that score and his thoughts veered back to the matter that had concerned him for the last day. He paused thoughtfully for quite a few seconds, reluctant to raise the issue.

He looked at Elizabeth, “Your uncle and I are finalizing the settlement papers and I will speak of this to him. We cannot jus ignore Stokes’ threats in drawing up the settlement papers. While it may be unnecessary, under the circumstances, I would expect the worst from him if something should happen to me. I want you involved and fully knowledgeable regarding the details so that you are in a position to protect yourself from any interference on his part.”

Elizabeth knew that the settlement was being discussed and had hoped to be informed of the particulars after it was approved; to be made aware of them prior to that was a compliment and she said as much to Waring. A meeting to that purpose was agreed upon for the following evening with her uncle and Waring. That session took place as planned and, for the first time, Elizabeth learned that, if Waring was not an excessively wealthy man, his mode of living had allowed him to set aside some forty thousand pounds, a sizable fortune for the day and age. On Elizabeth he settled half that amount, along with other provisions for her dower rights. The balance was to be settled on their daughters or second sons. As he replied when she protested the amount he assigned, “The matter is not one for debate, Elizabeth. Your security is important to me, and you must allow me this peace of mind.”

Waring informed Mr. Gardiner of his meeting with his relatives, spoke of the concerns that arose as a consequence, and made a suggestion with which Mr. Gardiner was compelled to agree; both of them sharing the opinion expressed by the latter, “If it is specified in the marriage articles, it will be more difficult to challenge than if only in your will.”

~~~

Elizabeth had every reason to enjoy her engagement period. Mr. Waring, in private, made no effort to hide his affections and those efforts left Elizabeth in no doubt of the ardency of them. She also discovered that he could stir her own desires as well and she did not stint her efforts to assure him that his affections were reciprocated. As the date of the wedding drew nearer, the prospect of further intimacies in the comfort of their marriage bed held little fear for her and was viewed with a great deal of anticipation. Her aunt had taken her aside a few days prior to the wedding and, without going into a great deal of detail, gave her niece to understand that such intimacies could provide pleasure and comfort to a married couple. Jane, who Elizabeth thought might wish to speak on the matter, would say little more than it was not distasteful. Since she was blushing greatly when saying this much, Elizabeth forbore to press her further. Thus she was able to bear and ignore, with equanimity, her mother’s rather different perspective tendered the night before she was to wed.

Although Waring was able to resolve his business matters expeditiously during his trip to Oaksley, Elizabeth's responsibilities on behalf of Longbourn were not so easily discharged. As it was necessary for her to make arrangements to ensure its continued prosperity, she travelled there with Waring a week before the wedding to meet with Mr. Carton and her sisters. Mary and Kitty were perforce required to become more actively engaged and, if unable to replace their elder sister in all particulars, they were agreeable to acting as her agents in support of Mr. Carton. With that gentleman, a regular exchange of correspondence was arranged. Elizabeth, with her future husband’s concurrence, agreed to visit at least once a year to oversee the situation. Mr. Bennet was apprised of all the arrangements and evinced as much interest as in the past, which is to say that as long as his meals, port and books were in good order, he was content.

If there was any cloud overhanging Elizabeth’s happiness, it was that her elder sister retained reservations about her marriage. Not only did she remain concerned about the difference in ages between Elizabeth and her betrothed, she also worried that Elizabeth’s acceptance had been based more on prudence – a need for a home – than on affection. Nothing that Elizabeth said convinced her otherwise and she was not unhappy when her sister finally desisted in such inquiries. Jane ultimately resolved to conceal her uncertainties and rejoice in her sister’s contentment with her situation. With Mr. Waring himself, she was quite pleased and only regretted that her beloved sister would be settled so far from her as to make frequent visits impossible.

The night before the wedding found Elizabeth with little to do and much to think on. Tomorrow she would wear the name of Elizabeth Bennet for the last time. The prospect did not dismay her; she looked forward to her new life. They were to travel almost immediately after the wedding to Wiltshire and her new home where they would spend the first week or so of their marriage. They had discussed a wedding trip shortly after becoming engaged and, after much debate, plans were laid to visit Scotland which Waring had visited several times in the past.

“Anthony, I am not unaware of the real purpose for traveling to Scotland.” Elizabeth said.

“I do not comprehend your meaning, Elizabeth," said Mr. Waring, wondering what new tease his betrothed was to inflict on him.

“The fishing, of course. My uncle assures me that Scotland has the finest salmon fishing in the country. Shall I have to check to ensure that your tackle – That is the proper term, is it not? – is not travelling with us?”

Mr. Waring’s face fell and Elizabeth burst into laughter, “I would not suspend any such pleasure of yours, Anthony. You may bring such equipment as you deem necessary; however, I do have one stipulation.”

He did not try to smother his grin, “And that is?”

“You must bring a second set with us.”

Mr. Waring was now completely puzzled, “For what purpose? I am sure that should we meet anyone there, he will have his own tackle.”

Elizabeth smirked, “For me, of course. You must teach me how to fish. I shall not bear to be apart from my husband and, if I am to be by your side, I may as well learn to fish, as not.”

To call him surprised was to understate the case. No woman of his acquaintance had ever expressed a desire to fish and, for several moments, he was speechless. Finally, he blurted, “You wish to fish? To learn to fish?”

At Elizabeth’s nod, he gathered his composure. Although he was not entirely sure that it was a good idea, he consented to the proposal. After all, as he thought more on the matter, if the fish were not co-operating, he might well pass the time more enjoyably with his wife. That he could contemplate pleasuring his wife under such circumstances was so new a prospect as to leave him quite aroused. Not much more than two months ago, he had little thought to marry and now that prospect was upon him and was being considered with great anticipation. If teaching his new wife to fish would increase her happiness, he was sure that his own would be enhanced as well.

  
**July, 1814 - Derwydd Hall near Oswestry, Shropshire**

The carriage had travelled but a mile or so beyond Oswestry when it turned off the main road past a gatehouse that marked the entrance to Derwydd Hall, home of the Goodwells. The road wound its way through meadows interspersed with wooded areas for about a half mile before entering a clearing which displayed a moderate sized house, built in the Tudor style, and happily situated amongst a grove of trees with gardens laid out behind. As they drove through a large archway into an inner courtyard, Darcy estimated the house to contain about twenty-five rooms based on a count of the windows.

The Goodwells came down the entrance steps to welcome them as the carriage rolled to a stop, and several footmen immediately busied themselves unloading trunks from the carriage. The greetings were quickly effected and the Darcys ushered inside. Since it was but an hour or so until dinner and they had been travelling since an early hour, a bath and a change of clothes were their greatest needs and were easily met. Later, suitably refreshed, they ventured downstairs to join their hosts and meet the other guests. In company with the Goodwells were Mr. Goodwell’s mother, a matronly woman of about sixty years and seemingly possessed comfortable manners, Mrs. Goodwell’s brother - Mr. George Linton, a gentleman several years older than Darcy, and his wife, Alicia, who was several years junior to her husband. Also present were Mr. Goodwell’s younger sister, Mrs. Sarah Howell, and her husband, Mr. Thomas Howell who was of an age with Darcy.

“I thought, Darcy, we might give you and your sister, a tour of the house after we dine, if that is agreeable to you?” offered Mr. Goodwell.

Darcy readily assented and they removed as a group to the family dining room. Conversation was comfortable amongst the Goodwell family and it was not long before Darcy and his sister were participating with some ease. There was an effortlessness, intelligence and a lack of pretension to the conversation that bespoke well not only of the understanding of the company but also of its manners. Darcy could remember few occasions where he immediately felt so comfortable and he could see his sister’s normal reserve and shyness dissipate as the meal progressed.

Afterwards, a tour of the house was guided by the Goodwells, who made little effort to mask their love for their home.

“If it were not for the theatre, opera and similar entertainments in London, we would never leave, I assure you, Darcy. Six weeks is all that I can endure away from my home, and our children would never wish to leave.”

“It is truly delightful, Henry. It has features that I have never seen elsewhere.”

“Well, it is an old house – built in Queen Elizabeth’s reign, I believe.”

“How long has your family owned it?”

“My great-grandfather bought it about a hundred years ago. He and my grandfather did some renovation work and modernized several rooms, but it remains very much as it was when we bought it – the essential features, at least.”

“The Great Hall is truly amazing. The wall panels with those carved faces … I have never seen their like elsewhere.”

“We hold a Twelfth Night Ball there every year and a Harvest Ball as well. It is a family tradition and one our neighbours have come to count on. Perhaps you and your sister could join us this year, although I know you wish to spend Christmas at Pemberley.”

“Yes, I do. We do. There are obligations to our tenants and neighbours that would make it difficult for us to be absent during the Christmas season. But I thank you for the offer. As to the Harvest Ball, we shall have to see.”

Two days later saw them attending services in the Oswestry Parish Church. The service was not unusual in any respect and the ritual was, as ever, comforting. The rector, Mr. Farrell, a gentleman of sixty years or more, spoke well and simply, with an almost Socratic discourse on the meaning of the day’s scripture, and Darcy came away wishing for the opportunity to talk further with him on that and other subjects. This wish, he was soon to learn, could be gratified, as the rector and his family were to be the guests of the Goodwells for dinner that very evening, as appeared to be the normal custom.

At five, a carriage was dispatched to bring the Farrells thither and a half hour later the rector, his wife and a young woman who turned out to be his daughter joined them. Mrs. Farrell was a short, plump pigeon of a woman, with a cheerful countenance and engaging manners. As Darcy was to learn, gossip formed the majority of her conversation, although he never detected the smallest portion of unkindness in it; and, indeed, it seemed that her greatest pleasure came from regaling those happy events – marriages, births and courtships forming the greatest part – that were so much an ingredient of any small community. Her daughter, Judith, a young woman of twenty-five appeared to be well known to the Goodwells and conversed easily with them in a rather lively manner. She was of a slight build with strong features and became quite handsome when she smiled. She would never be considered beautiful by most of society but would, Darcy thought, be as attractive at sixty as she was at five and twenty.

Before he could consider her further, the opportunity to converse with her father presented itself and soon he found himself very enjoyably engaged in a discussion of the history of Oswestry and its connections to Wales. Georgiana and the Lintons were equally as interested, and the call to the dinner table did little to interrupt the flow of conversation. Happily seating themselves at the table, they were able to persuade the good rector to continue the discussion to the point that he offered to be their guide for several excursions around the area in the coming weeks. Miss Farrell’s company was solicited by Georgiana and her agreement readily given.

The pleasant conversation continued after the meal and, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the small parlour, Georgiana and Miss Farrell consented to provide musical entertainment. Darcy found Miss Farrell’s performance, although clearly not equal to Georgiana’s in technique, to be quite as enjoyable as she was gifted with an admirable feel for the music and a pleasant singing voice. He had no opportunity to speak with her, as his attention was engaged by Mr. Farrell and his friend, Goodwell, although, on more than one occasion, his gaze drifted to where she and his sister were conversing with some spirit with Mrs. Howell. It seemed that the evening was too short, as the Farrells were reluctant to stay much past ten in the evening. The carriage was called and plans confirmed for several days hence to make a day trip to visit several places that Mr. Farrell thought might interest the Goodwell’s guests.

The next day, the Darcys and the Lintons travelled to Oswestry to walk through the town and visit some of the local shops. Mrs. Howell declined to join them as her condition, a babe to be expected in January, was such as to make her stomach rebellious in the morning and her husband could not be persuaded to part from her. The day was quite warm, but, by the time they arrived in Oswestry, a walk through the town allowed them to enjoy a light cooling breeze that had sprung up. As they passed the Parish church, Miss Farrell was seen to be walking ahead of them and, upon being hailed, willingly joined their group.

“I am, you see, just out for a ramble, although I must visit a family before doing so. The day is too pleasant to remain within the house.” said she.

“Do you go for a walk frequently, Miss Farrell?” asked Georgiana.

“Whenever the weather and my mother will allow it.” laughed Miss Farrell. "My mother can sometimes find altogether too many tasks for me to do for my liking.”

“Tasks?”

“Oh indeed! Some of them related to the church - preparations and such - and there is a great deal of parish business. My father does not have a curate, you see, and his health is such that he cannot visit as much as he wishes. Since I like to be active, those tasks more strenuous in nature have fallen to my lot. Fortunately, it is not a hardship.”

Georgiana asked the question which sprung to Darcy’s mind, “Your father is not well, Miss Farrell?”

When no response was immediately forthcoming, Georgiana was, Darcy could see, about to make her excuses for inquiring; however, Miss Farrell spoke before she could so.

“It is not a significant problem, but he tires easily. Now, down this lane we can see the local graveyard. Some of the markers date from the Wars of the Roses, although much of the words have been worn down by wind and rain.”

The change of topic was accepted by all, and Darcy asked, “Have you and your family always lived here in Oswestry, Miss Farrell?”

His question appeared to catch her by surprise, perhaps because he had not previously spoken to her and he had not appeared to have paid her much attention; he had, after all, been in her company for a whole evening and addressed not one word to her. Nevertheless, it did allow for the further diversion of interest from the topic of her father’s health which she was not comfortable discussing and thus his inquiry was not unwelcome. Collecting her thoughts, she responded, “My father accepted the living here about twenty years ago, Mr. Darcy. We moved here from York.”

Questions from the other members about the history of Oswestry brought a laughing disclaimer from Miss Farrell, “You must save these questions for my father. He has made quite a study of the area and is much more knowledgeable than I.”

Miss Farrell was required to absent herself for a quarter hour to complete the purpose of her trip – a visit to a parishioner – and, after rejoining them, directed them to a stroll past the more prominent shops in the town, finally leaving as they arrived where their horses had been stabled.

On more than one occasion over the days that followed, Darcy and Georgiana, sometimes accompanied by others, happened upon Miss Farrell as she walked the paths and trails surrounding Oswestry. When such meetings occurred it was their wont to dismount and walk with her; Georgiana took upon herself most of the burden of conversation, Darcy usually content to walk beside his sister and listen to their conversation. If one were to have asked Darcy where his thoughts tended, he would have been hard-pressed to provide a coherent answer. More than once he was reminded of those few walks he had enjoyed with Elizabeth Bennet when she had visited Hunsford. Miss Farrell, at first inclined to disregard his habitual silence, was, on the second time he and Georgiana joined her, less prepared to suffer his quietude and began to question him directly, her manner light and teasing.

“Miss Darcy, we have been discussing novels for some time now and your brother has yet to venture an opinion. I begin to think he disdains such pleasures. Pray tell me, does he only read dusty tomes of philosophy? Or perhaps agricultural treatises?”

“I fear my brother must answer for himself, Miss Farrell. I do believe he has read a novel once in a while.”

Darcy smiled, “I, once upon a time, read all my sister’s novels to ensure she did not read anything improper. I now leave that chore to her companion. I trust that my sister does not read anything too scandalous.”

“Do you have an opinion on a recent work by the author we were just discussing?”

“I admit to not having read it, Miss Farrell. Despise me, if you dare.”

“Indeed, sir, I would hardly dare, though you might enjoy the tale. I warn you that it is a romantic story.”

"Would Mrs. Burney approve of it?”

“I think not, Mr. Darcy. Not a castle to be found, I fear.”

“Mayhap, I may try it then.”

“I will loan you my copy, brother. I have finished it.”

Shortly thereafter they left Miss Farrell at the parsonage and continued on to Derwydd Hall. Later that evening everyone relaxed in the family parlour: Goodwell and Linton were engaged in a chess match; Darcy had begun to read the novel lent by his sister; and the others were content to converse amiably. Darcy’s attention was caught by Georgiana’s mention of Miss Farrell.

“I must admit it has been a pleasure to have made Miss Farrell’s acquaintance. My brother and I have encountered her several times while riding.”

“She is a sweet girl.” Offered the senior Mrs. Goodwell. "It is unfortunate that her circumstances are not better.”

“Not better? How so?” questioned Georgiana.

Darcy was not inclined to listen to gossip in general, but this subject captured his interest.

Mrs. Goodwell was about to explain further when her daughter interrupted, “I do not believe we should gossip, mother.”

“Nonsense, Alice. I say nothing that is not common knowledge.” Mrs. Goodwell’s tone was brisk as she spoke once more, “She is a dear girl. Well read, smart and most good-hearted. Unfortunately, her father’s health is precarious, although that is not well-known, and when he dies, unless he has made some provision, she and her mother will probably have to depend upon either the charity of her uncle, her mother’s brother, who lives and works in London, in trade I believe, or that of her father's brother, the Baron. He, however, is in straightened circumstances himself, I understand..”

“I can hardly believe she remains unmarried. She is quite attractive. Surely she must have drawn some attentions?” Georgiana’s voice was thoughtful.

Mrs. Linton decided to have her share of the conversation, “I believe that several young men and even a widower indicated some interest, but she gave them no encouragement at all. And …” she spoke with added emphasis, “her connections are not all that poor. Her uncle is Baron ____, after all, albeit one whose circumstances are not prosperous. The title cannot be ignored or undervalued.”

Mrs. Goodwell was indignant, “Of course she did not accept such suitors. They were a poor lot, indeed. Tenant farmers all of them, except for the widower who was fat and forty, if he was a day. And he only wanted a mother for his five children. All of them thought to acquire a gentleman’s daughter for a wife. It would have been very much a step down for her.” She nodded at her daughter. "Indeed, she is not without some connections; as you say, her uncle is a Baron, although the family is far from wealthy and there may be little help from that quarter. Mr. Farrell is the fourth son, I believe, and must depend upon his own efforts.”

Georgiana was not afraid to express an opinion with which she was not in complete agreement in order to encourage discussion. "Nonetheless, marriage would have assured her of independence and a home. Prudence suggests she marry, although I concede that such prospects as you have described are not attractive.” She paused, “Judith has not spoken of her uncle. Do they not see him often?”

“They did visit them for a fortnight a few years ago but, as the family estate is in Sussex, the cost of travelling is beyond what they can afford.” After a brief pause, Mrs. Goodwell returned to her principal concern.

“Such a marriage as Miss Farrell has been offered would quite soon, I am sure, be most unhappy. She could never respect such a husband as has approached her. Prudence can carry too high a cost, my dear.” Mrs. Goodwell was looking at Georgiana as she spoke and the latter nodded slowly in agreement. The conversation moved on to other topics and Darcy was left to consider that which he had overheard; eventually, he returned his attention to the novel he was reading, putting aside all thoughts of Miss Farrell and her circumstances.

Two days later the inhabitants of Derwydd Hall were invited to dine with a local family, the Carringtons, with whom the Goodwells had long been acquainted. It turned out to be a large gathering with some eight and twenty people invited. Mr. Carrington was a jovial gentleman some fifteen years older than Darcy and well pleased to entertain and his pleasure grew in proportion to the numbers that were present. The welcome was warm and all the necessary introductions performed with dispatch. Darcy found that his discomfort in being surrounded by those with whom he was unacquainted was, as ever, present, and it was with no little relief that he saw Mr. Farrell enter the room, accompanied by his wife and daughter. With an expectation of interesting conversation, he moved towards him; however, before he had crossed half the distance, he was approached by another guest, Sir Charles Harland, a Baronet who, having relatives in Derbyshire and having heard of the Darcy family, was eager to pursue an acquaintance.

Sir Charles quickly established himself as a man possessed of definite opinions and a ready willingness to share them all. Ten minutes of conversation was sufficient to reveal to Darcy that Sir Charles’ opinions were not those he would espouse or, in many cases, respect. They also had several acquaintances in common, although Darcy could not admit to knowing any of them particularly well. This was not an obstacle to Sir Charles speaking of their affairs in more detail than Darcy was comfortable with. Nor was he prepared to contribute his share to such a discussion. His attention was thus not completely given over to Sir Charles, who needed little but a willing and quiet listener to be content. Darcy’s focus was more fully directed to the Farrells. He noticed where Mr. Farrell had seated himself and that his daughter had joined Georgiana in conversation. After a few minutes, he realized his sister and Miss Farrell had moved behind him and out of his sight. He resisted the compulsion to see where they had seated themselves. Doing so would be discourteous to Sir Charles and he firmly returned his attention to that gentleman in time to hear him say, “You know George Atkinson, of course?”

Darcy thought for a moment, “Yes, although not well. I have not spoken to him for several years.”

“Just as well, perhaps. No one else is!”

“I fear I do not take your meaning, sir.”

“His marriage, of course! You must have heard that he made a most inappropriate marriage.”

“I have heard nothing at all. Inappropriate? In what way?”

“His family is quite ashamed of him. I believe several have gone so far as to cut all ties with him. He is fortunate to have an independent competence, otherwise, when his father disinherited him, he and his wife would have been thrown into the hedgerows altogether.”

Darcy thought to remember all that he had heard of the Atkinson family.

“I do not know the family at all well. My acquaintance with Atkinson was not great. We met at Cambridge. I seem to remember him speaking of his father, in particular, as being rather … conservative.”

“Conservative? Perhaps, although I would rather have said that he has a very proper appreciation of what one owes to one’s family.”

“There were then some serious objections to the lady?”

“To be sure.”

Sir Charles seemed, for one who had to that point been quite querulous, oddly reluctant to be more specific. For reasons that he did not understand, Darcy was curious to find out more.

“Was she,” he asked, somewhat fancifully, “an actress or an opera singer?”

Sir Charles chuckled, "No! No! She was quite respectable in that regard, although perhaps one could better understand Atkinson's behaviour if she were an actress or such.”

Darcy asked mildly, “What was the objection then to the match?”

“She was the daughter of a barrister who was himself the son of a tradesman. She had no connections of note, no dowry worthy to speak of and, while her family was respectable enough, her relations were less so. In trade, you know!”

"Were there other objections to the young lady?”

“Not that I have heard although one never knows in these situations. Those were sufficient, surely. I am certain his family believe her to be a fortune hunter. Hardly could be otherwise given the circumstances. And, even were she not, which I think doubtful, she and her family are of no consequence and it is a degradation of the Atkinson name to be attached to them. A degradation, I tell you. I am ashamed of that young man and sorry for his family.”

“Ah, I see.” Darcy was thoughtful as his thoughts returned to the Bennet family and those objections he had raised to prevent his friend’s attentions to Jane Bennet and which he had so poorly and wrongly articulated in his proposal to her sister. So wrapped in thought was he that much of Sir Charles’ further observations went unheard. He was finally recalled by the questioning tone in his voice.

“… it would be intolerable, would it not? A man in your position would not act so.”

Darcy was not altogether certain what he was being asked to confirm and his discomfort with his past actions was such as to make him wish for solitude to collect himself as best he could. With a hasty acknowledgement, he moved away from a rather surprised Sir Charles and moved towards the window which looked out on the garden in back. As he moved in that direction, he noticed that his sister, Miss Farrell and several other young ladies were standing not too distant from where he and Harland had been speaking and wondered if their conversation had been overheard. Certainly, Harland had made no effort to moderate his voice. He thought to ask his sister, when an opportunity presented itself, if such had been the case, although he could not see that the matter was of such significance as to warrant concern.

Dinner was satisfying. Places were by choice and he seated himself across from his sister and between Mr. and Mrs. Farrell. Their daughter sat beside his sister and altogether he thought that conversation would be comfortable; and so it mostly proved to be. Mr. Farrell was, as always, able to talk intelligently on a variety of subjects and, on those occasions that he had to attend the lady who sat on his other side; Mrs. Farrell was quite willing to fill any silence. He quickly found that her daughter was a topic on which she was not reluctant to express an opinion.

“I do not altogether understand the girl, Mr. Darcy. She is so much like my father. He could never bear to be idle or inside but must always be out walking. I despair sometimes of her ever finding a husband.”

Darcy felt all the difficulty of responding to such a comment and observed, “My sister and I have met her out walking quite often. She appears to derive considerable enjoyment from the activity. I believe she also visits your husband’s parishioners regularly while doing so."

Mrs. Farrell nodded eagerly but her attention was then captured by her other table partner asking her a question and Darcy turned his attention to the conversation taking place between his sister and Miss Farrell. Their voices were too low for him to hear what they were saying and thus, suddenly bereft of conversation, he relaxed, leaned back in his chair and considered Miss Farrell more closely. Throughout the meal he had spoken to her once or twice and, on each occasion, her responses had been polite and brief. With others, she appeared willing to engage in extended discussions but not with him. This was somewhat different from their past acquaintance when, though their exchanges had been few, she had engaged him as willingly as she had his sister and he could not account for the change in her behaviour.

He rather thought he would attempt to engage her in a discussion after dinner but such plans as he had hoped to implement proved fruitless. When the gentlemen returned to the music room to join the ladies, Miss Farrell, Georgiana and a few other ladies were persuaded to provide musical entertainment. Afterwards his attempts to join her company were unsuccessful; she always seemed to be called to speak to someone in another area of the room when he arrived. He was puzzled by such an unfortunate turn of events. It almost seemed as though she was avoiding him, though why she should do so he could not fathom.  
 


	10. In which Mr. Darcy’s interest is piqued and Mrs. Waring becomes more accomplished

**Early August, 1814 – Gracechurch Street, London**

The wedding took place according to the usual formalities and, at its conclusion, Elizabeth Bennet surrendered the name of Bennet, to her immense satisfaction, and took that of Elizabeth Waring. As she was to confess to her sister afterwards, it was as though she shed, for once and for all, the tarnish that her youngest sister had attached to her. The shame affixed to the name of Bennet was a burden she no longer had to bear.

As she contemplated her future, she remembered her vows. They would, she knew, be easy to honour. She had come to know her husband well enough to realize that to love, honour and obey would entail few problems even if, she told herself, the obey part might be stretched as they became more comfortable with one another. She believed that he would never ask her to do something to which she had serious objections. She trusted in his love and his honour.

By ten that morning, they had departed from the wedding breakfast to the dismay of Mrs. Bennet who could not, despite repeated explanations, understand their need to leave so precipitously. Fortunately, the number of guests was not large, consisting mainly of the Bennets, Simmonses and Philipses and a few friends of the Gardiners and Simmonses who had been invited. Mr. Waring’s sister and her husband had not attended, nor had they been expected. However, to Waring’s surprise, his niece and her husband did so, contrary to the wishes of her parents, met his future wife, and approved of her most heartily. Plans for future visits were laid, with an invitation to them to visit Oaksley Manor at Christmas.

Despite Mrs. Bennet’s urging, no one from Meryton had been invited and their absence was regretted only by that lady. Mr. Bennet was much as he had become over the last few years. The barrier, arising out of Lydia's disappearance, and out of his own and his favourite daughter's recognition of his failure as a parent, had created an obstacle that neither had been able to surmount. His feelings of resentment, guilt and hurt pride which had come to colour their once comfortable relationship could not be dissipated so easily. Elizabeth’s own withdrawal and increased absences from Longbourn only solidified their estrangement. Inasmuch as Longbourn seemingly could be managed quite competently without his involvement, he had no excuse, no reason, not to retreat into seclusion. What purpose did he serve after all? With these somber thoughts he walked his daughter down the church isle, surrendered her hand to the man she would wed, knowing that she was doing so for many reasons, not least of which was the desire to escape him and her situation at Longbourn.

~~~~~

They had settled comfortably into their carriage and, for the first time in her life, Elizabeth was alone with a man who was neither her father nor her uncle. She was not sure how she felt. Anxious, for a certainty. Her husband seemed to sense her qualms and allowed her to adjust at her own pace, only claiming her hand as his.

It was as unsettling as anything she had previously experienced when he removed her gloves, and his own, and nestled her smaller hand in his, gently stroking the back of her hand. If he thought that he was calming her, Elizabeth could have informed him otherwise. The urge to be held more closely, and perhaps even kissed, was growing apace, and yet the courage to admit of such desires escaped her at the moment. The brief brush of his lips at the conclusion of their wedding ceremony had barely registered. While she was mulling over these thoughts, he spoke.

“We have not discussed our trip at all. It is, as I believe you know but perhaps have not considered, almost one hundred and twenty miles to Oaksley. Too far to travel in one day unless we wish to arrive very late at night and with exhausted horses. I most definitely have no desire to spend our wedding night travelling. I have reserved us rooms at the ____ Inn in Newbury which is about halfway to Oaksley. I apologize for not consulting with you, but I have made the trip often enough to know that this is the best choice.”

“I have no objections, husband. None! I also have no wish to travel at night.”

“The inn is extremely comfortable, and I have obtained the best rooms for our use.”

Elizabeth nodded her assent and nothing more was said on that subject. There is little to be gained by describing their travel to Newbury. The carriage was well sprung and pulled by four well-matched horses. Their security was ensured by the presence for two footmen in addition to the driver – all of whom were well-armed. Inside the carriage the newlywed couple had no shortage of conversation and, to her complete satisfaction, Elizabeth had her wish for her husband to kiss her granted more than a few times before they arrived in Newbury. In fact, she was appreciative of those few minutes they travelled through Newbury to rearrange her hair, bonnet and dress, so as to be able to greet their host at the inn with composure.

~~~~~~~

Through sleep-laden eyes he watched her as she left the bed and felt her way to the wash stand. The splash of water in the bowl alerted him to her activities and he gazed with a tinge of regret as she soaked a cloth and then wash her thighs and between them. He had expected there to be some blood but, in his own thoughtlessness, had not considered that she would want, would need, to be cleansed. After drying herself, she searched the floor until she found her nightgown which he had thrown aside during the night. She would need it as the fire was naught but embers and the room grown cool. Climbing back into the bed, she inched her way closer to his warm body, turning on her side with her back to his chest. Feigning sleep, he draped an arm over her and gently pulled her closer. A sigh was her only response and they lay so for some minutes until he felt her leg spasm and then it seemed as though her whole body relaxed. Within minutes her breathing had taken on a regular soft chuffing sound and he was sure that she had fallen asleep. When he whispered her name, there was no response and he allowed himself to close his eyes. He was almost painfully aroused, but it would not do to importune her again so soon. He wished to sleep, but could not, and his mind was caught by the memories he and she had created just scant hours before.

He had never bedded a virgin before that night and never expected to do so again. In this, their experience was equal. She was a maid, a virgin, and inexperienced in the pleasures of the marriage bed. He had resolved to be patient and even, should it prove necessary, to defer his own pleasure to ensure hers. In this he failed dismally. He had been told, with what veracity he could not know, that he was somewhat larger than most men and she had been so small ... he feared her pain must be severe. He hoped only that she would not fear the intimacies of their marriage bed in the future.

Her soft “enter” when she bid him enter her room spoke of her uncertainty. She was waiting for him, sitting on the edge of our bed, clothed in the most disturbing of nightgowns and he thought her calm until he saw how tight the clasp of her hands. He had been no less embarrassed and almost as nervous as she when he knocked on the door. Strangely, her very nervousness calmed him. They shared a glass of wine, sitting together on her bed. He drank very little, it had been offered for her, to ease and calm her. Her hair was braided into a sleeping braid but she undid it at his request and it fell to her waist and over her shoulders. "You shall always wear it thus when I come to your bed.” He murmured, stroking it, letting it run through his fingers. She was enchanting, intoxicating; he ached for her at that moment - as much as he ached now. His thoughts wandered over all they shared that night and he feared to allow himself to dwell on those intimacies lest it overpower his restraint again. He could remember caressing her breasts with hands and lips; she had denied him nothing - there was not a part of her body he did not touch and taste.

His hand slid down her body and underneath the loose nightgown until he touched her soft core once more. His fingers stroked her several times and he desisted only when her hips began to move under his ministrations. He brought his hand back to his lips, smelled and tasted her essence.

Her pleasure, her passions had quite undone him and stirred him to greater efforts; and, while he desperately wished to claim her, to make her his wife in truth, he was able to forbear, but it took the utmost resolve. It was only when she demanded it of him that he weakened and found he could not deny what they both wanted. He was as slow and gentle as possible, but her pain when he finally entered her body was inevitable. He kissed her tears, but she would have it no other way, would not allow him to do other than join with her. He knew she took little pleasure from their joining at first and he, after denying himself so long, was not able to withstand the delight of entering and possessing her so fully. He sensed she was but starting to take some pleasure when his own overcame his ability to control. He was totally undone. He murmured, “You gave me to believe that you were well satisfied. I hope so, my love; you will share my bed for the remainder of my days and, if I have failed to give you a full measure of pleasure tonight, I will not lack for opportunity or desire to remedy that deficiency.”

He did not remain awake long afterwards. She remained asleep, her head coming to rest on his chest, her body pressed against him.

He must have dozed for some time as she had turned on her back when next he gazed at her. Her restless movements woke him. H laid his hand on her belly and could feel her breathing and the warmth of her body through her nightgown. He had no notion of the time but the room was very cool now and only the faintest embers were to be seen in the fireplace. He forced himself out of bed, the floor cold under his feet, and he moved to the fireplace with alacrity. A few thin pieces of wood, and blowing on the embers rekindled the flame and, as it spread, he placed several dry split logs on the nascent flame. By the time he had refreshed himself, wiped the traces of blood from his own body and crawled back into bed, the fire had caught and was beginning to cast off some heat.

Curled up beside Elizabeth, he collected her body to his own and began to stroke her lightly through her nightgown, his touches so soft as to ensure that she slept on. His hand teased the hardening peak on her breast, her breathing became a little shallower; he slowed his caress until she calmed once more and his thoughts wandered again.

He woke before her in the morning and felt such a desire as he had never experienced before. She did not expect his attentions, was almost embarrassed by them, the daylight and the faint sounds of the Inn waking, appeared to discomfit her but he persisted and would not be denied. He was sure that she would respond. The woman who lay in his arms last night could do no other. His attentions were no less than before and it was some time before he moved to join with her, to encase himself in her warmth and feel her moving with him. If there was some small pain, it did not seem to last and her pleasure, her petite mort, was beautiful to behold, calling forth his own.

As he they lay together afterwards, he murmured in her ear, “I have never known such joy with a woman and knew not that it was even possible. I am the most fortunate of men.”

The happy couple departed the ____ Inn somewhat late that morning and those who saw them as they made their way to the carriage, could have little doubt of their happiness as their exuberance could not be masked. The second day of travel went much as the first except now there was an additional degree of freedom and intimacy between them. Their exertions of the night before had left them both more than a little in want of sleep and it was no surprise to Waring when Elizabeth, after a half hour, drifted quietly off to sleep.

For his part, thoughts of the past and future would intrude. He would not pretend to inexperience; although no Lothario, he had had some interludes with women. His honour would not allow him to seduce a maiden, nor would he consort with married women. His few “adventures,” for want of a better term, had involved widows with a reasonable independence and no desire for the married state. His heart had not been touched since he was a young man of four and twenty and even then, the loss of the lady’s interest – a young lordling had come courting and she was smitten and engaged to marry within a month – had not materially damaged his heart. He had never loved until he met a young woman laughing at her uncle beside the Ingleburn. That he had won her hand in marriage and her body for his bed was such as to make him sometimes fear it had been a dream. And yet. Here she was, his wife, travelling beside him with their wedding night behind them and every expectation of a happy future. With such musings he dozed and it was with no little surprise that he found that he had also fallen asleep only to be wakened when the carriage made its first stop to change horses.

Their trip passed as such journeys do with conversation, some intimacies and the occasional nap. As they finally drew up in front of Oaksley Manor, Elizabeth turned to her husband and made a simple vow, “You will have no regrets in marrying me, husband.”

 

**August, 1814 - Derwydd Hall, Shropshire**

Darcy had been at Derwydd Hall about a month when one morning, at the breakfast table, Mr. Goodwell waved a sheet of paper at his wife and exclaimed, “Ah, this is just the thing! A ball!”

His wife glanced at him, “A ball, Henry? When? Where? Who is holding it?”

“Patience, my love. Patience!” he read the note once more. "We are invited to a private ball, to be held in the Assembly Rooms in Oswestry, Friday next.”

“Who is hosting it?”

“The Mandells. You recall them, I am sure. It seems their son has just become engaged and they wish to celebrate the event.”

"Less than a fortnight from now!” Mrs. Goodwell looked at Darcy. "Were not you and your sister to depart that day?”

Darcy looked over at Georgiana before responding, “For my part, I see no reason that we could not put off our departure for a few days, if you are able to host us. Georgiana?”

Georgiana nodded, “I am quite at liberty although …” She paused for several moments, “… although I am not sure I brought anything suitable for such an occasion.”

Mrs. Goodwell was quick to assure her that Oswestry had one or two capable seamstresses; however, before she could comment further, Darcy offered to send a carriage with her maid to Pemberley to retrieve any gowns Georgiana might desire and this, meeting with her approval, was done and so it was that they were to stay until the Monday following the ball.

~~~~~~

The days leading up to the ball proceeded much as they had been doing. The gentlemen rode, shot, fished and undertook other such activities as were customary for their sex, while the women were as happily engaged in less strenuous activities. A number of outings were arranged, some under the guidance of Mr. Farrell, which could be enjoyed by them all. Fortunately, the weather proved cooperative and days replete with sun and warmth were much in evidence.

Several times Darcy, whilst out riding, either alone or with Georgiana, encountered Miss Farrell walking and, if Darcy had thought more on the matter, it might have occurred to him that the time and direction of his activities had been orchestrated, either by his own or his sister’s inclinations, so as to make these encounters possible. Nevertheless, such thoughts did not arise and he – and Georgiana – invariably joined Miss Farrell as she rambled. When Darcy walked with her alone, he made a determined effort to engage her in conversation. This proved, more than once, to require exertion on his part, for he found the lady to be coolly polite and somewhat reluctant to talk with him as freely as she did with his sister. Nevertheless, he persisted and usually was able to engage her interest and conversation when talking of plays and books in particular. On one such encounter, Miss Farrell seemed less reticent and began to ask him about his estate, a subject on which he was never reluctant to expound. Her questions showed both an interest in, and some knowledge of, the workings of an estate, which could only encourage him to speak more freely on the subject. Knowing her interests, he spoke more of the grounds, gardens and walking trails and also of the tenants and their families. When they parted, he had rarely felt so pleased with a young woman’s company.

The day of the ball was soon upon them. They entered the Assembly Room to be greeted by their hosts and the engaged couple. Darcy and Georgiana moved smoothly through the introductions, extended their congratulations to the obviously happy couple and strolled deeper into the room. Darcy had already secured the first four sets with the ladies of his party and was quite at leisure since dancing was not to start for a full half hour. Georgiana had spotted Miss Farrell and left his side to speak with her. Two or three gentlemen that he had met at the Carrington’s dinner beckoned him over and he, more quickly than he had expected, found himself conversing about their estate concerns which, in truth, were not much different than those he faced regularly.

When the musicians began to warm up their instruments, he sought out Georgiana in order to lead her onto the floor. He found her talking quietly with Miss Farrell and, taking the opportunity, spoke to the latter.

“May I have the pleasure of dancing a set tonight with you, Miss Farrell?”

His request had obviously caught her by surprise and her response reflected as much, “Why … I had not … Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.” She collected herself further and asked archly, “Do you have a preference, sir?”

He smiled, “The supper set, if it is not already spoken for.”

Again she appeared surprised, “Yes … No, it is not spoken for.”

“Then I shall be pleased to dance it with you.”

He bowed to her and claimed his sister’s hand, saying, “I believe they are ready for us now, Georgie.”

Georgiana smiled at her friend and allowed him to lead her to the floor. Their dance was quiet, neither of them of a disposition towards idle chatter. Darcy was content that it should be so and spent much of the dance watching Miss Farrell being lead through the patterns by her partner. He danced three more sets with the ladies of his party before allowing himself a respite. Taking up a position by a window, he watched the dancers with one lady prominent in his ruminations. Her figure was womanly and she moved easily and lightly and, if not all of her partners were equally capable in the dance, she gave no sign of displeasure or discomfort, talking easily as she stepped through the figures of the dance.

Finally, it was time to claim her hand for the supper set and, as they began, his thoughts, which hitherto had seemingly of their own volition focused on the dance he shared with Elizabeth Bennet almost three years in the past, returned to the young woman who was now his partner. They had not danced but a few minutes when he became aware that Miss Farrell and he had danced in silence; conversation, which Miss Farrell had bestowed so easily on her other partners, was absent. He recalled their previous meetings and wondered at her silence, since she had spoken freely with him when they last walked together.

As they neared the end of the first dance, he was moved to remark, “I believe we must have some conversation, Miss Farrell.”

She looked a trifle surprised, but replied, “And on what would you have us speak, Mr. Darcy?”

“As a gentleman, I believe I should leave the choice to you. I would be agreeable to almost anything.”

“Shall I comment then on the weather? Or on how nice this ball is?”

Darcy was silent. Her tone, her very expression was withdrawn. Civil she was, but nothing more. With others he had seen her laugh and charm; with him it appeared that she only tolerated his company. He was puzzled. Had he somehow earned her disapprobation? He could think of nothing that would account for such a reaction on her part. Finally, when the pattern of the dance brought them close again he ventured to speak, after looking around to ensure that no one could overhear.

“Miss Farrell, have I somehow offended you?”

She looked at him, her mien reflecting the surprise she undoubtedly felt. Her voice, when she at last replied, remained cool.

“I hardly believe you need concern yourself, Mr. Darcy. I can assure you that nothing you have said to me has offended any sensibility of mine”

Darcy was pleased at this assurance although it did not account for her behaviour but this was neither the time or place to explore the matter further. He made several more attempts to engage her in conversation but with only limited success and he wondered at the wisdom of sitting with her through supper. As it was, his thoughts took a turn for the worse when, after the dance was completed and he was going to lead her to the supper tables, she made no move to take his proffered arm, saying instead, “I appreciate that you may not wish for my company at supper, Mr. Darcy. I will not hold you to any obligation to sit with me.”

Darcy could not hide his surprise, “Miss Farrell, I believe you mistake the matter altogether. I requested the supper set so that I might sit with you. It would, I assure you, be a pleasure for me; however, if the thought makes you uncomfortable, I will relinquish that pleasure.”

Miss Farrell was obviously discomposed at his response, “No … I am … I mean that I would be pleased to sit with you, sir.”

Again offering her his arm, they strolled towards the supper tables and, finding two seats, in the company of the Goodwells, Darcy seated his partner and left in search of a plate of food for them both. When he returned some minutes later, it was to find her in quiet conversation with the Goodwells and Georgiana. It was a setting, he knew, where private conversation was not possible, and so set himself the task of being agreeable to those around him. In this he was so successful as to merit several perplexed glances from Miss Farrell and amused ones from his sister. As they were all conversing, they were approached by Mrs. Mandell asking Georgiana and Miss Farrell to perform for them, a request agreed to readily by Georgiana but only with some reluctance by Miss Farrell.

“If my vanity,” said she, “had taken a musical turn, I might greet this request with pleasure but, as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”

Darcy was not prepared to allow her to denigrate her talents, “Miss Farrell, it would give me and others, I assure you, great pleasure to hear you perform.”

She looked at him rather dubiously before agreeing to Mrs. Mandell’s request, “I beg of you not to expect too much. My accomplishments are, unfortunately, limited.”

Darcy gave a bark of laughter which caused a uniform rising of eyebrows amongst those around him. Miss Farrell appeared to think it a reaction to her disclaimer. And was about to respond when Darcy interjected.

“I must ask your pardon. I was not, you may be sure, responding to your comment, Miss Farrell.”

“Might we then share the jest, Darcy?” asked Mr. Goodwell.

“To be sure.” He replied, “I was, in fact, thinking of the words of a young lady of my acquaintance who professed an opinion as to the proper accomplishments of a young lady of the highest station. Let me try and remember them.” He paused for a moment or two and then continued, “A young lady to be called properly accomplished must, she said, have a thorough knowledge of music, dancing, drawing and the modern languages. And, in addition, must possess a certain something in her air and her manner of walking, her address, her expressions and so on.” He began to laugh once more, “She obviously had gone to a seminary where these accomplishments were taught and could see no further.”

He smiled at his sister, “I remember saying that I knew, at most, a half dozen such women which the young lady agreed with strongly.” He chuckled once more, “However, when another young woman questioned whether I could know any with such attributes, Miss Bi … the first young woman claimed to know many who answered the description. She is, unfortunately, all too common amongst society.”

“And what do you consider to be an accomplished woman, Mr. Darcy?” asked Miss Farrell.

Darcy turned thoughtful, “I would, I suppose, agree that a woman should possess some of these qualities; however, I would not consider any such woman accomplished unless she possessed intelligence, a willingness to expand her knowledge of the world by reading and a basic kindness to others. One who would treat a queen and a maid with equal civility and kindness.”

The short silence that followed this statement was broken by Mrs. Goodwell who asked Georgiana and Miss Farrell which pieces of music they were to perform and shortly thereafter the entertainment began which perforce had to be attended to by all at the sacrifice of further conversation.

Dancing continued after the entertainment had concluded and Darcy chose to stand and observe for the remainder of the evening. If his attention was focused primarily upon Miss Farrell, it did not appear to be noticed by anyone. The journey back to Derwydd was quiet as fatigue had claimed all of the party.

Darcy’s intentions, or perhaps interest is the more appropriate word, had quite escaped everyone’s perception other than Georgiana who, upon discerning it, had chosen to conceal her awareness, not really expecting her brother to forward such an interest. She quite liked Miss Farrell, valued her intelligence and conversation and had only to regret that the difference in their respective circumstances seemed to preclude a closer and more frequent acquaintance. A correspondence had been agreed upon, but Miss Farrell’s situation in life was not conducive to travel and visits to Town. Miss Farrell was, she believed, one of the very few women of her acquaintance whose primary interest in her was not to achieve a closer association with her brother. It might be said that the lady’s reluctance, or lack of interest, did not reduce her merits in Darcy’s considerations.

However, their time at Derwydd Hall was coming to an end and to Pemberley they were to return.  
 

**Late-August, 1814 – Somewhere in Scotland**

________, Scotland_   
_August 24, 1814_

_Dearest Jane,_

_Please forgive my tardiness in writing you. I cannot claim a lack of opportunity, for such is not the case. Please attribute it to a mind, too cluttered with the diversions of a trip, to wish to spend precious hours on anything other than the pleasure of a husband’s company and the enjoyments that are to be experienced as we travel to places I have never before experienced. As you already know, we tarried but a week at Oaksley before venturing forth on our wedding trip. It was an indescribable feeling to take up residence there as its Mistress. I shall, I am sure, grow accustomed to the feeling eventually._

_I will not bore you with an endless description of what we have seen. For that, you must be patient and await my return. I assure you that I have looked upon, and admired, such a variety of prospects, buildings, sites of great historic interest and rocks and glades and hills to satisfy even my most heartfelt wishes. I have quite used up two journals recording all that we have encountered. I could wish that I had learned to draw, for that is truly the only way to capture some of the lovely sites we visited and handsome homes we toured. Words can do little justice unless one is a Wordsworth or Cowper. I freely acknowledge how far short I fall in such endeavours._

_This trip has proven to be quite different from those I have enjoyed with our aunt and uncle. Anthony is much more inclined to visit sites of historic interest than grand estates and manor house. I dare say he could have stayed in Edinburgh Castle for several more days, if time had permitted. We toured the castle and I fear our guide was embarrassed on one or two occasions when my dear husband gently corrected an error or embellished the account. I am quite determined to expand my own readings of this period of time. If my husband is to be believed, the Scots are a very fractious people. When I mentioned that I wondered at the English desire to add them to our kingdom, my husband laughingly agreed. Apparently they were as much in discord amongst themselves as they were with the English._

_I will not, as I said, talk of all the sites we visited although a few stand out. Hadrian’s Wall, which runs a distance of more than seventy miles, was constructed only a hundred years or so after the birth of our Lord. I cannot fully comprehend the dedication to constructing such an edifice. Anthony tells me that the Great North Road that we traveled to reach Scotland was, over much of its distance, originally constructed by the Romans to enable their armies to repel the barbarians from Scotland who delighted in invading England to pillage and loot. I suspect, from my husband’s demeanour, that they did not limit themselves to such activities, but he would not be persuaded to speak on the matter further. You, my dear Jane, would be, I know, content to leave it thus; but I would know it all. I shall have to explore my husband’s library more thoroughly._

_I believe I heard more about William Wallace, Robert the Bruce and other Scottish leaders to last a lifetime! However, it was perhaps not until we came upon the vale of Glencoe that the ferocity of the hatreds between the English and Scots was fully bourn upon me. I cannot reconcile the beauty of the spot, nestled amongst the most beautiful and intimidating mountains, with the terrible massacre that took place there over a hundred years ago. That we, the English, could have ordered the slaughter of so many innocents – women and children – almost makes me weep. I could never return to Glencoe. Its beauty is lost to me._

_Please forgive me. I had not meant to digress in such a mournful manner. I will, I hope, bring you such amusement, over the rest of this letter, to quite banish such dismal thoughts as I have roused. For as much as my husband enjoys history, he, in equal measure, finds great pleasure in fishing. I am convinced that activity would have by itself made him wish to travel to Scotland where, he assures me, is to be found the best salmon fishing in the kingdom. I remember teasing him, when the possibility of a trip hither was first mentioned, that he was more interested in fishing than in his wife’s pleasure. After some persuasion, which I will concede I quite enjoyed, I was convinced to accede to his plans. I, in my most impertinent manner, made my agreement dependent upon my husband teaching me to fish – for you know our uncle would never consent to doing so despite my pleas. I quite forgot that I had extracted such a promise from Anthony; he, however, remembered, and it was with considerable surprise that I was, several days ago, reminded of my impertinence._

_We had taken a short lease on a cottage near the River Tay some miles north and west of Perth. The day after we settled there, my good husband escorted me outdoors to the small paddock behind the cottage. There he placed in my hands a fishing rod. I had ofttimes seen my uncle’s but this rod was smaller than I expected. Anthony assured me that I would be more easily able to use the rod he had given me – which was intended for a young lad - than his own; and, in truth, he was quite correct. I did attempt to use his rod but it was longer and much heavier than my own and, after a few turns, I was quite exhausted. I sorely regretted my teasing of him to allow me the use of his fishing rod. I said nothing further about using a boy’s. We spent a most enjoyable hour with him instructing me in the art of casting. I suspect that his enjoyment derived mainly from his pleasure in wrapping his arms around me in order that I learn how to handle the instrument and I do believe I received more instruction as a result. There! I am sure I have raised a healthy blush on my sister’s cheek._

_If I have done so, then I fear what I am about to relate will quite render you speechless and absolutely scarlet. You see, as my husband informed me the following day, my skirts were quite inappropriate garments if one wished to fish the pools where the salmon were to be found; and, he assured me, we would have to walk over some difficult grounds and on paths where skirts would be a hindrance. Imagine my surprise and mortification when he presented me with his solution – a pair of breeches or ‘breeks’, as they are called here in Scotland. I was, it seems, to wear them under my skirts when we walked out and to divest myself of the skirts in the carriage upon our arrival into the country and to walk about in just my breeks. You can well imagine my reluctance and it was only Anthony's assurance that we would be quite alone throughout the whole adventure that allowed me to agree to his proposal._

_It is well that I heeded my husband, as the paths were truly overgrown with brambles and bushes. My skirts would most likely have been torn to shreds. I found that I quite enjoyed the outing; not perhaps to the same degree as my husband, but it is one that I did repeat on two more occasions. I even managed to catch a salmon, to the delight of my husband and myself. It seemed to me to be a fierce battle as the beast took the fly on the end of my line – and promptly attempted to relieve me of my rod and position on the shore. I feared for a scant second or two that I would be pulled into the pool, so surprised was I at his actions. Fortunately, I was able to retain my footing and was blessed in that the beast did not remove all the line from my wheel before running out of room and speeding to the other end of the pool. My dear husband was shouting at me loudly – Turn the wheel! Turn the wheel! – it took me a second or two to grasp his meaning. He wanted me to turn the wheel and retrieve all the line that the fish had drawn out. It was a hasty business, and I can vouch for the fact that the salmon’s intelligence must have been of the lowest possible order not to escape my clutches. I was the veriest idiot at the end of the fishing rod. However, after some five minutes or more, I was able to draw him in. A fine beast, he was. All of two pounds and I had the full measure of him that evening at the dining table. My dear husband also had some success, catching three more fish, two of which were much larger than mine. He was most pleased with our day’s adventure and I suspect no small part of his pleasure arose from walking behind me. He seemed to take a greater pleasure than is normal when we are out walking. I wonder why? I am shameless, am I not?_

_It will shock you I know but I was becoming quite comfortable wearing the breeches and enjoying the freedom. Men are to be envied in this regard. At any rate, just before we were to depart, I took it upon myself, without any assistance from my husband, to change the location from which I was fishing. I espied a lovely rock from which to cast and was happily making my way thither, jumping as carefree as you could imagine, from one rock to another. I had successfully gained my objective when I lost my balance and fell head first into the pool! To my relief, it proved to be shallow at that spot; I was only subject to a great soaking and the reproaches of a very worried husband. However, once seeing me safely standing in water to my waist, he was quite mirthful and asked about the size of the fish that had dragged me in. I am glad one of us got some pleasure from the event – although my retribution later that day was quite satisfactory to us both. You are familiar perhaps with the practise of some society women to wet down their muslin dresses and why they would do so. I can inform you that it is extremely effective. I take comfort that we encountered no one on our return as my appearance was quite shameless. However, Anthony did not appear to object in the slightest._

_It is with no little reluctance that I view our departure tomorrow. While I have no cause to repine my husband’s company at Oaksley, we always appear to have many people around us. These past weeks, despite the presence of my maid and Anthony’s valet, we were left very much alone and it has drawn us closer. I cannot say I have known a finer man than Anthony, and my respect and esteem for him grows with each day that passes. I can attest to the charms of a blazing fire in the fireplace with my husband beside me reading the poetry of Robert Burns. I particularly favour ‘A Red, Red Rose’. I will say no more but do recommend the activity for the enjoyment of you and James. I would be happy to welcome another niece or nephew!_

_I have hopes that you, James and the babe will be able to visit us in October which month, Anthony assures me, can show Wiltshire to great advantage. You must allow me to return all the hospitality that you gave me before my marriage and I will hold you to your promise of a month’s visit. I will quite depend upon it. However else will I be able to tell all that I have seen on this trip?_

_Your loving sister,_   
_Elizabeth W._

Mrs. Campbell entered the room and coughed to capture Elizabeth’s attention. "Mrs. Waring, the Laird is here.”

The Laird, Ian McAllister, was the principal landowner in the area and the one who had granted permission for them to fish on his lands.

“Very well, Mrs. Campbell. My husband is out at the stables checking on our carriage. Will you please have someone inform him of the Laird’s presence?”

Mrs. Campbell nodded and then showed the Laird into the small parlour. He and Elizabeth made polite conversation for several minutes until Waring entered the room. Mr. McAllister rose to greet him.

“I was in the area and thought to call, to wish you well on your trip home. I know you plan to leave early in the morning. The day looks to be fine and you should have an easy trip. Where do you plan to stop?”

“We thought to stop at Perth for a day before continuing.”

This met with the Laird’s approval and several spots were suggested for them to visit while there. As he was about to take his leave, he turned to Elizabeth, and she thought she detected a twinkle in his eye. "I have heard the most … interesting rumour, Mrs. Waring, which, I assure you, I most definitely stated to be false.”

“Rumour, sir?”

“Yes, indeed. It appears that someone believes that you were fishing with your husband. I know that the rumour must be false as it was claimed you were wearing breeks. Quite impossible, is it not Mr. Waring?”

Her husband laughed, “Quite impossible! What can the person have been thinking? A woman in breeches? Never!”

The Laird began to laugh as he tried to ignore Elizabeth’s flushed face and waved his good-byes as he took his departure.

Elizabeth murmured, “I wonder if I dare ever return here!” as she watched him walk down the path to his horse.

Waring came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. "I think we may return whenever we wish, my dear. Whenever we wish!”


End file.
